


dont let it go (we can live forever)

by charactershoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Skinny Dipping, and deal with their emotions badly, boys who care too much, just so much friendship, liam has a lot of dogs, not as sad as it sounds?, sophiam never dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charactershoes/pseuds/charactershoes
Summary: The band goes on hiatus. Three years later, Ireland's beloved ex-boybander Niall Horan ends up in the hospital for an attempted suicide. This isn't how Louis imagined their lads weekend going, to be honest. About Alex au.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this like two days before liam and sophia broke up, and i continued to write it in the hopes that theyd get back together and tbh im still hoping bc im in love with sophia 
> 
> (ps this is obviously just fiction and not a real representation of the boys or their relationships so plz take it as such)
> 
> tw for suicide mentions

...

The band goes on hiatus.

Zayn's solo career takes off.

Louis does a stint on the X Factor, disappears for a year, except for his name in the writing credits of a couple of Grammy-nominated albums.

Liam moves back home. Makes a Buble-esque Christmas album. Does some producing on the side. Sophia can't get pregnant. They keep getting dogs instead.

Harry goes solo. It wasn't part of the plan, the one they all mapped out before the hiatus.

One Direction doesn't get back together.

Niall goes back to Ireland, buys a big old farmhouse over the ocean.

The boys make fun of him for it initially, for how fucking big it is. Niall shrugs and grins and says something about how he needs a bedroom for each of them, doesn't he?

He keeps posting stupid Instagram pictures of his scrawny white legs with golf playing on television. It's only ever his legs in the pictures, is the thing.

Originally, the plan had been for a year-long hiatus.

Three years go by fast.

And then Niall Horan... that is, Ireland's beloved ex-boybander Niall Horan -- from One Direction, remember them? -- ends up in the hospital.

Attempted suicide.

...

"Y'sure you don't want me to drive?" Sophia asks for the third time. She's barefoot in the passenger seat, like always, a dog curled up in her lap. Only the dog doesn't fit quite so nicely anymore, as Soph is rather massively pregnant.

"Yeah," says Liam briefly. "Yeah, positive, love. We're nearly there now anyway, I remember that little pub down the way from last time."

"Hmm," says Sophia, adjusting the seatbelt over her swollen belly. "S'been a while now, hasn't it?"

Something jerks in Liam's stomach.

"More than a year, I suppose," he says shortly.

"You've just passed the train station," says Sophia apologetically. "We'll have to turn around."

"Fucking hell," says Liam, and makes a rather illegal U-turn. The car behind him blares its horn in protest.

"Jesus, Liam," Sophia snaps, but she still turns around loyally to flip off the other driver. "Fuck off!"

"Sorry," says Liam, quieter, once they've pulled safely into the train station lot. "It's just-"

He doesn't finish the sentence. There's a heavy weight on his shoulders that doesn't ease, even after he's undone his seatbelt.

"I know, love," says Soph sympathetically -- lovely, warm, understanding Soph. She squeezes the back of his neck once, acrylic nails pinching a bit, then she's got the door open and is nudging Kanye off her lap. "Down you get, princess."

"He's a boy," Liam grumbles, even as he rushes 'round the car to help Sophia to her feet. "And he doesn't appreciate you emasculating him."

"He's a diva," she says fondly, shaking off Liam's helping hands. Then, nodding towards the train station, "Speaking of divas..."

And there's Louis.

He's skinnier. You can see it in the cut of his cheekbones and the way his joggers hang off his hips. But he's wearing speckle socks and carrying a rucksack patterned with the Simpsons and his whole face still crinkles up when he smiles.

"Tommo!" calls Liam, waving a bit redundantly as Louis' already taken off in a run.

"PAYNO!!!"

He's sharper, somehow, his elbows digging into Liam's sternum rather horribly when they collide, but he smells like Louis. His stubble still scratches. He still has to go up on tip-toes to hug properly. For a minute, it's okay.

"Hello, love," says Louis, drawing back to smile his crinkly-eyed smile. He smacks a kiss on both Liam's cheeks, then one right on the lips. "Hair still stupid, innit?"

"Oi," says Liam, offended, but Louis' already moved on to Sophia.

"Jesus, Lee-mo, didn't think you had it in you."

He's making his clucky-baby face, a hand on Sophia's belly, Kanye yapping at his ankles. Soph laughs fondly, maneuvers him into an awkward sort of hug.

"Hallo, babe, you've got skinny," she says, cheerfully thumbing at the lipstick print she's left on his cheekbone. "How've you been?"

"Good, yeah, good," he says, only some of the crinkly genuineness is gone now. His shoulders slump a bit as he turns 'round to survey the grey, Irish afternoon. "Haven't been up here in a while, y'know."

"Nor us," says Liam, and Louis' mouth twitches in something like understanding, and then it seems there's not much else to say at all.

...

Kanye takes an immediate dislike to Louis, probably feeling threatened by the presence of another yappy, miniature alpha-male with an attitude problem. He sits on Soph's lap and growls at Louis from around the curve of her belly.

Louis, twenty-seven-year-old Grammy-winning multi-millionaire, flips the dog off.

"What'd you bring the dog for anyway?"

"He'd miss us," says Liam defensively.

Sophia snorts.

"He's got attitude problems and the other dogs at Doggy Day Care bully 'im so Liam decided we should just bring 'im along."

"I seem to recall it was a joint decision," Liam protests.

"Fuck, you're proper domestic now, aren'tcha?" Louis observes, caught somewhere between endeared and disturbed. "Fookin' gross, the both of you."

His accent's thicker, like in the early days. It's in his mannerisms, too, the way he holds his head and the cross of his ankles. He catches Liam watching him in the rearview mirror and pulls an ugly face.

"How have you been, then?" Sophia asks, turning to face Louis with some effort. "Really."

Louis shrugs, flicks back his fringe. "Good, yeah. Bit of a- y'know. Weird couple days."

"Yeah," says Liam.

They lapse into silence. Liam thinks about waking up to four missed calls from NIALLER (shamrock emoji shamrock emoji beer emoji) and stuffing his phone into his pocket. Soph was late for a doctor's appointment. He'd meant to call back later. He really had.

"Fuck," says Louis quietly to himself.

"What're we meant to say?" Liam wonders, finally voicing the anxieties that have been tangling in his gut all day. "What is there to say, like--"

_Hey, mate. Remember when we were roommates at bootcamp. Only seventeen. You had braces and you were braver than me. I almost hated you for it, mate, but I couldn't quite do it. I meant to call more, Nialler, I did._

"Figured I'd start with a good old 'what the fuck were you thinking,'" Louis says, almost casual, but too sharp, "and go from there."

The feeling in Liam's stomach, if he had do describe it, is somewhat akin to a free fall, cut short by the jerk of a rope, tightening.

"Jesus, Lou, you can't just--"

"What, Liam, am I not supposed to fucking acknowledge it? Pretend everything's fucking peachy and we're all here for that fucking lads' vacation we always liked to talk about?"

"No, but-"

"Left up here," says Sophia abruptly.

It's quiet, then.

"Heard from Harry?" Liam ventures.

Louis snorts. "The fuck you think?"

"I talked to his personal assistant last night," Sophia says. "He's flying in today."

"Personal assistant, Jesus fucking Christ," says Louis. "Fucking-"

He dissolves into mumbled expletives. Liam's head gives a single, solitary throb. Sophia moves her hand to just rest, gentle, on his knee.

He had meant to call back. He really had.

...

It's a big white farmhouse on the top of one of those stereotypical Irish cliffs above the ocean in the Middle of Absolute Nowhere. Not even a fence or anything around it.

Poor security, they'd teased him, but Niall had laughed and said any fan dedicated enough to climb that feckin' hill deserved an autograph.

Won't you get lonely, someone asked, and Niall beamed and strummed a chord on his guitar and said no, he didn't think so.

A big, ugly, curly dog lopes around the side of the house at the sound of the engine. It barks a few times, more inquisitive than threatening, but it's enough to have Kanye on his feet, quivering with the force of his yaps.

"Lonely, innit," Louis remarks, voice quiet over the crunch of tires on gravel.

"Shut up, Kanye," says Liam wearily, and parks the car. There's a big, fancy-looking garage around back, he remembers, but there's only a plain red pick-up parked in the drive.

Louis helps Sophia out of the car, sending a resentful glare Kanye's way. Liam lets the ugly curly dog sniff his crotch for a while, then crosses the yard to the door.

He's got a key; Niall had given them all a copy, three years back.

He'd seemed to have this expectation, back then, that they'd be coming and going constantly. Dropping in on Ireland often enough to merit their own key.

He's never used it before. The door sticks; he has to shoulder it open.

And then it's just a big old empty house. The dogs won't stop barking.

The rope in Liam's stomach goes slack, then tightens with a lurch.

"Hiiiii. Is someone there?" a familiar voice calls, and then Harry comes 'round the corner and stops still.

He's got his hair tied up and he's wearing one of those stupid novelty aprons with a woman in a bikini printed on the front. He's holding a bottle of Windex in one hand and a sponge in the other. He's pierced his ears.

There was a time -- for a couple of months, a few years back -- where Liam hated him. But that's gone away now. Harry is twenty-five and he loves the world and the world loves him right back. Liam won't begrudge him that.

"Harry," he says, and opens up his arms. "Hey, mate."

Harry skids in his socks, nearly knocks Liam down with the force of his hug.

"Liam Payne," he says, with so much love. "Liam Bloody Payne."

Liam lets him rock them back and forth for a bit. Rubs a hand up and down Harry's back, feeling the knotted tension there.

"Hi, mate," he murmurs. "Y'alright?"

Harry doesn't get to answer. The big ugly curly dog bursts into the house then, Kanye hot on his heels.

"Bloody dogs," Louis grumbles. He's holding Sophia's luggage as well as his own, probably in some ridiculous show of chivalry. Sophia is rolling her eyes fondly, just behind him.

Harry drops his Windex.

"You're pregnant," he whispers. Then, louder, turning to Liam in accusations. "She's pregnant!!"

"Is she?" says Liam, feigning surprise, but Harry's not having it.

"She's bloody pregnant and no one told me!!"

He strides across the hardwood floor, stops in front of Sophia. He's still pigeon-toed.

"Hi, Harry," she says, smiling fondly, opening her arms.

He sweeps her up in the most ridiculous, gentle, slow-motion hug Liam has ever seen, as long-limbed and odd as ever.

"How far along are you?" he demands, once he's drawn back. "Do you know its sex? Have you been taking pre-natal vitamins? I read an article a few weeks ago about the benefits of yoga during the third trimester, I'll forward it to you if you--"

"Jesus, Styles, let the woman breathe," says Louis, not unkindly.

Harry steps back. "Lou."

"Hi, Harry."

Louis lets Harry hug him, and he even hugs back a bit, and smiles when he draws back.

"How've you been?" Harry demands, doing his earnest serial-killer stare. "You're too skinny. Have you lot eaten yet? I brought lunch foods. Picked 'em up in town."

He's moving back down the hall then, swooping down to retrieve his cleaning supplies. The apron's tied in a perfect bow at the small of his back.

Sophia wraps an arm around Louis' waist, but they follow him down the hall.

...

It's a big, spacious country kitchen. Lots of windows. Lots of white cabinets and hardwood floors. There's a big wooden island with stools to sit at. Everything is impeccably clean.

"Got here this morning," Harry says, handing Louis an unopened box of Yorkshire tea and moving to the sink to fill the kettle. "Figured I'd clean up a bit. Get some food in. Get things back to normal."

There's something manic in the fervor of his smile, in the way his hands shake just a little as he produces sandwich meats and a loaf of good, crusty bread.

"Was a bit of a mess," he says, still smiling, but it's sharp. Liam winces.

"Sit down and eat," Sophia suggests, but Harry's already whisked off to find milk for Louis's tea and then he's going to look for a juicer, because he knows a recipe for a kale smoothie just loaded with vitamins that Sophia would love.

Louis kicks off his shoes, lets his socked feet dangle from the island stool. Stirs at his tea and doesn't drink it.

"By the way," says Harry, skidding back into the room, "use the downstairs bathroom, if you need to. I haven't quite gotten to the upstairs yet. Um."

"Sit and eat," Louis echoes Sophia's words, but more forcefully.

Harry's shoulders go sharper, tighter.

"Just for ten minutes," Liam puts in pleadingly. "Haven't seen you in-- s'gotta be more than a year now, innit? How've you been?"

"Good," says Harry, brows furrowed. He starts cutting slices of bread for sandwiches, passing around utensils, but at least he's standing still. "Really good. Taking a bit of a break right now. Doing some writing."

"Yeah, how's that going?"

Louis' being remarkably civil. Liam is very proud. All the same, Harry's posture stiffens defensively. He starts sawing away at the loaf of bread again.

"Good," he snaps. "Like I said. Good."

Louis sits up a little straighter. His jaw sets.

"Great, glad to hear it," he says coldly, and then devotes all his attention to feeding Curly Dog bits of lunch meat.

"Whose dog is this, anyway?" Liam wonders aloud, for something to say.

"Dunno," says Harry. "Was sitting on the front porch when I got here. Probably Niall let her out, forgot to let her back in before-"

Sophia gently wrestles the knife from Harry's hands, where he's been distractedly mutilating the loaf of bread. "Careful, babe."

"Sorry," says Harry dumbly. He sits down then, finally.

Sophia crosses the room to put the knife in the sink carefully.

"I'll clean the dishes later," Harry tells her, but she ignores this and obstinately starts soaping up a plate.

"Eat," Liam tells Harry.

"I was thinking," says Harry, ignoring him, "that maybe we should put some of, like, the knives away. For now. As like--"

"Don't be stupid," says Louis. "He's not going to self-destruct the minute he sees something sharp."

Harry frowns. "I didn't say he would. I just think we need to be careful-"

"They're not going to let him out of the hospital unless they think he's not gonna do it again," Louis argues. "It's fucking Niall, you know what he's like. The last thing he wants is more attention-"

"Yeah, but do we know what he's like?" Liam asks.

"'Course we do, don't be a dick," says Louis, but he's shaken.

Kanye nips at Liam's ankles. He picks him up, strokes him absent-mindedly.

"Well I think we should clean," says Harry, fixing his manic smile back in place. "Because it's dusty as fuck in here, and Sophia is a very pregnant woman."

"Oi, fuck off," says Soph lovingly. She flicks some suds at Harry's stupid apron.

"You should be sitting down," Harry tells her seriously.

Louis gets to his feet, snatches up the bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels.

"Where's the upstairs bathroom?"

"Oh," says Harry, and the smile is gone again. "Oh, Lou, you don't want to-"

"He called me fifteen times that night," Louis interrupts flatly. Forces a smile. Fixes his fringe. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Top of the stairs, to the left," Harry whispers.

"Right," says Louis, and leaves.

Harry picks up a sponge, stares at it, puts it down again. His apron's come untied, over-exaggerated female curves hanging askew over his skinny frame.

"Liam," says Sophia, "I think the dogs need to be let out."

Liam looks down at Kanye, who looks alright to him, then back to Harry, whose hands are shaking slightly.

"Yeah, alright," he says, gets to his feet, stoops to pet Niall's ugly curly dog. "Y'wanna show me where the back door is, Styles? This house is too fucking big."

Harry leads the way. They pass the stairs, and Louis' still standing at the top of the stairwell, staring at the closed bathroom door.

They politely pretend they don't notice. Keep walking.

...

"You didn't tell me Soph was pregnant," Harry says, starting across the grass. He's just in his socks, apron hanging off him limply. Twenty-five is so very young.

"Didn't I?" says Liam, but it comes out hollow. They both know he didn't.

Harry shrugs, always too forgiving, too willing to let things slide.

"Maybe I missed the email," he says, moving to inspect the rundown stone wall that skirts the edges of the property.

Liam follows him, and whistles at the sight.

Beyond the waist-high stone wall is perhaps another two feet of grass, ending abruptly in a sheer cliff face. And there's the ocean, a couple hundred meters below.

"Can't even hear it from the house," Liam remarks.

"It's beautiful," Harry says, taking a seat on the wall, back to the house, stretching his legs towards the sea.

Privately, Liam thinks it's kind of lonely. But he sits, too, facing the house and the big, empty yard where the dogs are running.

"Smoke?" Harry asks.

Liam shakes his head. "Gave it up two years ago. Didn't know you smoked."

"Didn't know your girlfriend was pregnant," Harry says mildly. "Guess it's been a while."

It's an accusation, whether or not Harry phrases it as one. Liam sighs, takes a cigarette.

"Look, Harry, we didn't. We didn't tell anyone 'til nearly five months in. Soph's had- We wanted to be sure, this time. Like, that we wouldn't lose the baby."

"Oh," says Harry. "Sorry."

"Well, me, too," Liam offers. He fingers the unlit cigarette for a while.

It's quiet.

"D'you have a lighter?"

"No," says Harry. "I don't actually smoke. Just picked 'em up in town when I was buying groceries. Dunno why, really."

Liam doesn't have to turn and face him to know he's grinning goofily. He laughs.

"Harry Fuckin' Styles."

"Liam Bloody Payne," Harry returns, swinging his legs back over the wall to face the house. He leans over, smacks a kiss on Liam's cheek, then stands. His back cracks alarmingly. "What've the dogs found? If it's a rabbit or something, I'm morally obligated to fight them off, Liam."

It's not a rabbit, it turns out. Harry and Liam follow the barking dogs around the side of the house just in time to see Niall climb out the back of a black Range Rover.

"Niall," says Harry to himself, confused. And then, louder, breaking into a run, "NIALL!"

Niall looks up from petting Curly Dog and his whole face splits into a sunshine-y grin.

"BOYS!"

He steps over Kanye, runs at Harry.

They meet in the middle of the driveway in a collision of limbs. There's a loud cackle of laughter. Harry goes down first, pulls Niall down on top of him.

By the time Liam reaches them, Harry is kissing every inch of Niall's face he can reach and both dogs have joined the tangle of limbs on the floor. Curly Dog is slobbering into Niall's ear lovingly.

Liam's crying, a little bit, when he pulls Niall up to hug him. Harry stays on the ground, limbs spread like a starfish, smiling stupidly at the sky. Kanye climbs onto his stomach and sniffs at his crotch with some interest.

"Payno," Niall laughs, pulling back to beam into Liam's face. He uses his thumb to wipe away a few of Liam's stray tears, and he's got white gauze bandages on both his wrists. "What're you cryin' for, Jesus. Pull it together, yer embarassin' us all."

But he's teary-eyed, too, and he smacks a kiss on Liam's cheek. Liam hugs him again, tighter.

"You should have called," he reprimands. "One of us could've picked you up."

"I was in the neighborhood," says a new voice.

Liam looks up.

Zayn shrugs, rounding the back of the car with a duffel bag in each hand. "Wasn't a problem."

"Zayn called for directions," Niall says, stepping out of Liam's embrace at last. "I asked 'im to make a detour on the way up."

"Any time," says Zayn mildly. He stops, looks down at the ground. "Hi, Harry."

"Hi," says Harry cautiously. He gets to his feet. "Beard's coming in nice."

Zayn smiles a little at that. "Thanks, bro."

He's broader than he used to be, like maybe he finally started listening to his physical trainer after all these years. His hair is cropped short, but his beard is longer, fuller than ever.

Harry hugs Zayn, and it's a little stiff, but it's genuine.

"Lemme take a bag," he says then, wrestling one from Zayn's grip. He turns to Niall then, holds out his hand expectantly until Niall takes it with a fond snort. They start for the house together, hand-in-hand like kindergarten buddies on a field trip. "I picked up some food, if you're hungry. And I cleaned a bit. You're a dusty, dusty lad, Niall Horan. "

Liam turns, and Zayn is still standing there.

"Hi," says Zayn, kind of quietly. "How've you been?"

Abruptly, Liam is on the verge of tears.

He wants to cry or yell or maybe punch Zayn or hug him or take Niall by the shoulders and shake him 'til he explains himself. He wants to say 'hi' and 'I missed you' and 'what the fuck are you doing here' all at once.

"Louis' gonna be a dick about this, y'know," he says instead, because what else is there to say, really.

Zayn's mouth quirks a little. "I know."

He starts for the house, and after a second, Liam does as well

...

Louis and Niall are engaged in a long, tangly hug with a lot of manly back-thumping and throat-clearing involved when Liam and Zayn enter the kitchen.

Sophia is watching fondly. Her eyes go big for an instant when Zayn enters the room, but the next moment she is smiling graciously and moving across the room to greet him with a hug.

It's Zayn's turn to go wide-eyed, then, at the sight of her swollen belly. He hugs her very gently like he's afraid she'll break.

"Didn't know you were pregnant," he says, looking a little stunned.

"I didn't either," Harry puts in helpfully.

"I did," says Louis, coolly superior. He untangles himself from Niall's hug long enough to nod at Zayn icily.

"Nice beard. Y'a folk singer now or summat?"

"No," says Zayn patiently, "just trying something new."

"Hmm. Stupid of you," says Louis, and then turns all his attention back to Niall, giving him a few more pounds on the back. "Y'alright, pet?"

"Yeah," says Niall, smiling. "Think I'll change, if that's alright. Smell a bit chemical-y."

"I'll come with you," Harry, Liam, and Zayn say at the same time.

Louis snorts, turns away and busies himself putting on the kettle.

"Nah," says Niall, still smiling like a champ. "Don't trust you lot not to take a peek at me arse when m'back's turned."

"What arse?" says Liam, only it's stale, like he's reading it off a script.

"M'fine," Niall says, looking around the kitchen pleadingly. "Really. Five minutes to meself, that's all."

"How about," Sophia says smoothly, "you show me where you've got the extra sheets and linens, Niall. Then I'll start making up beds for tonight and leave you be. Think I fancy a nap before dinner."

"Yeah, alright," says Niall tiredly, and lets Sophia kiss his cheek gently as she brushes past him.

"Oh," says Louis abruptly, turning back from the stove. "Don't use the upstairs toilet, lads."

Something twists in Niall's smile.

"Right," he says. "Back in a flash."

The second Niall's footsteps thunder up the stairs, Louis looks up to find three pairs of inquisitive eyes on him.

He shrugs, something bitter in the set of his mouth. "Couldn't get all the stains out. Need, like, bleach. Or summat."

"That bad," says Zayn hollowly. Louis doesn't look at him.

"Threw up in the sink, after."

"Oh, Lou," says Harry, moves towards him, stops himself. "I told you."

"Fuck off," says Louis, folding his arms defensively. The kettle starts to whistle, and he turns away, busies himself with it.

"Mugs are in the cabinet over the sink," Harry directs faintly.

"Listen," Liam voices abruptly, as the thought strikes him. "I don't think he should be alone right now. Niall, that is. So if we could split it into-- shifts, sort of. Just to make sure he's not, y'know--"

"Slitting his wrists in the bathtub?" Louis supplies viciously.

The rope in Liam's gut goes slack, then tight. He has to grip the counter, steady himself.

"Jesus, Lou," says Zayn harshly.

"We can't pretend that's not what happened," says Louis, looking a little penitent but mostly defiant. "We can't pretend any of us would be here right now, if it weren't for--"

"You don't know that," says Harry stiffly.

"You two didn't even know Liam was having a fucking kid," Louis says coldly. "I haven't been up here since he bought the damn place."

"I just don't think he should be alone right now," Liam interrupts, feeling shaken. "And I think we should do our best to make sure that doesn't happen. Alright?"

"Yeah," says Zayn.

Harry moves to stand next to Liam, knots their fingers together. He's got his shoulders curled in, like he always does when he's trying to feel small, but he nods.

Louis makes a choked noise that could almost be a sob, picks up his mug of tea, and ducks out the back door, mumbling about needing "a fookin' smoke."

Harry grips Liam's hand like a lifeline for another thirty seconds, then lets go, summoning his signature charming smile.

"Think I'll see what we've got in the house for dinner."

Liam looks at Zayn, thinks about smiling or hugging him or crying or saying something stupid. Zayn looks at his feet.

"M'gonna go find Niall," he says instead, and trudges up the stairs.

...

Niall's sitting on the end of his bed, one sock on, one sock off. The door's open, but Liam knocks before he enters anyway.

"Hey, mate."

Niall smiles, easy and effortless, an automatic reaction at the sight of one of his boys.

"Payno," he says lovingly. "C'mere, you bastard, I don't think I've hugged you enough yet."

Liam laughs at that, lets Niall hug him 'til he feels a little more normal.

He sits back, then. Musses Niall's hair, to cover for the shudder in his laugh.

"You stopped dyeing it," he notes.

It's all brown now, softer without the hair wax holding it in its perpetual quiff. Niall runs a hand through it ruefully.

"Yeah," he says. Shrugs. "Figured there wasn't much point in it anymore, y'know. No brand to maintain, any o' that shit."

"I thought you liked it blonde, though?"

"Yeah, that's the funny thing," Niall agrees, "I couldn't remember why I liked it. If I still liked it. Why I stopped liking it."

Liam understands, more than he'd like to, eyes flicking idly to the tattoos on his forearms.

"S'weird sometimes," Liam says, "being Just Liam and not Liam From One Direction. Like. Just a person. Not a piece of a set."

"I hate it," says Niall flatly. "I fuckin' hate it."

"I know," says Liam, even though he didn't, he hadn't, not until-

Niall stands up, smiles, pinches Liam's nipple gently.

"Let's go downstairs and you can introduce me to your dogs."

Liam's halfway down the the stairs before he stops short.

"Hang on, mate... DOGS? Plural?"

...

Niall has been laughing for ten straight minutes.

"Harry told me it was your dog!!" Liam protests defensively. "He told me!!"

"Excuse me, Liam," Harry interrupts, offended, "but I did no such thing. I said I _assumed_ she was Niall's--"

"Exactly, so--"

"--but _you_ were the one who let her into the house."

"Why the fuck would you assume it was my dog, though?" Niall is howling with laughter, kicking his feet. "When have I ever mentioned having a dog?"

"Not everyone puts their dogs on their Christmas cards," says Harry snootily, which is a direct fucking dig at Liam. "How should I know whether or not you have a dog?"

"Oi, fuck off," says Liam grumpily.

"I am the not the one to blame here," Harry says with great dignity. "And I'm not going to stand for this."

"Well now we have a stolen dog," says Louis cheerfully. "So that's cool, yeah?"

"Stolen-- Oh, no, d'you think she's got proper owners?" Harry is immediately aghast. "I just assumed she was an orphan dog. D'you think we've stolen her from-"

"An orphan dog," says Louis incredulously. "Fresh escaped from the dog orphanage, then? From the evil clutches of Ms. Hannigan? Hound-igan?"

"Don't be a dick," says Liam, even as Niall bursts into laughter all over again.

"She hasn't got any collar or tags," Zayn observes sensibly. Curly Dog's got her head resting contentedly in his lap, unaware of the controversy she has sparked. "And there's no other houses 'round here anyway. I'd say she's a stray."

"Y'should write a folk song about her," says Louis acidly. "Ballad of the Orphan Dog."

"We should call her Annie," says Niall abruptly, and everyone turns to look at him.

He shrugs. "If she's got fleas, she's already given 'em to us all by this point, so she might as well stay."

And that's pretty impeccable logic, if you ask Liam, so that's that.

...

Dinner is weird.

Harry talks too much and Niall doesn't eat like he used to.

The dogs sit under the table as Louis blatantly feeds them scraps, probably in an attempt to piss people off. No one really cares, though.

There's a note of weariness in the air. A sort of tension. A little bit awkward. Mostly sad, that it's come to this.

"How far along are you then?" Zayn asks Sophia out of nowhere, and there's something determined in the set of his jaw, the volume of his voice, like he's trying hard not to mumble.

Soph smiles back at him, and everything about her is infused with happiness, excitement. Liam has to stare, sometimes, he loves her so much.

"Nearly eight months now. I have to piss constantly."

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

Zayn's trying, bless him. Liam can see he's uncomfortable, just from the set of his shoulders, but he keeps bloody trying. Sophia's soft around the eyes, like she sees it, too.

"We decided we'd like the surprise, actually. That way we can put off the arguments over baby names for as long as possible," Soph laughs.

"I think it's pretty obvious," Louis interrupts. "If it's a boy – Simon Cowell, Jr. If it's a girl -- Simone."

"I still wish you'd told me sooner," Harry grumbles. "I've heard the first trimester is a magical time. I would've loved to have been there for it."

"Lot of vomiting, mostly," says Soph candidly. "Heartburn. Lot of sex."

"So much sex," agrees Liam happily.

"How are you feeling nowadays?" Zayn presses on bravely.

"Bit tired," Soph admits, shrugging. "My feet hurt all the fucking time. And my back. And my tits."

"Can you feel the baby kicking?"

Niall speaks up for the first time, and Liam has to cringe at the way all their heads snap towards him, so fucking obvious.

"Yeah, a bit," Sophia says. "Quite a lot if we listen to music. Liam sings, sometimes. We like that."

"Well fuck me if that's not the cutest thing I've ever heard," says Louis, smiling his crinkly-eyed smile that makes everyone stare.

Harry's the last to look away. Liam pretends he doesn't see. Smiles bigger. Talks louder, more jovial.

"Baby likes a bit of One Direction now and again, don't they?"

"They kick most during Niall's parts," says Sophia with a wicked smile.

"Oi!" Liam protests as Niall breaks into a triumphant cackle.

"Remember when Niall wrote a love song about Sophia?" says Harry reflectively, a hint of mischief caught in his left dimple.

"He did not!" Liam protests, even though he knows they're just trying to wind him up.

Abruptly, Louis bursts out laughing and Niall's still cackling and Harry allows himself a few self-satisfied giggles, and it's scattered and cacophonous and lovely.

Sophia grabs Liam's hand under the table and squeezes, tight.

...

"Anyone for a smoke?" Zayn asks quietly after dinner.

Liam shakes his head, and for a second no one else responds. Then Louis gets to his feet.

"Yeah, alright," he says, smaller than he used to be, messy-haired, but dangerous.

Zayn looks terrified. Liam stands as well.

"I'll let the dogs out," he says.

Niall wordlessly follows the three of them out into the backyard, dark except for the lights on the deck up above, dogs pushing through a fleet of skinny tattooed ankles to charge into the darkness.

Louis takes Niall's hand silently, gentler, less sharp, like at the beginning.

He wasn't always the way he is now, barbed and prickly and guarded. He didn't used to hold his wrists so stiff.

Sometimes Liam marvels that they made it out alive.

Only Niall's got bandages on his wrists and before today Liam hadn't talked to Zayn in nearly three years.

When Louis offers him a cigarette, he takes it.

No one talks. Niall doesn't smoke. Louis wanders off towards the stone wall and the drop-off, but the other three stand together in the dim semi-circle of light cast from the deck above. Liam coughs at first, 'til the routine of it all kicks in.

"Can't hear the sea from the house," Zayn remarks, quiet, always so quiet.

"No," Niall agrees, "y'can't."

Liam calls the dogs. Louis follows them in. He looks like he might've been crying, but no one says anything.

Harry and Sophia are on the couch, the news playing softly in the background. Harry's got his head resting on Soph's belly as she cards a hand gently through his curls. He closes his eyes as soon as they enter the room, but Liam knows he's awake.

"Think I'll go to bed," Niall says. He looks tired. A little bit ill. Young, with his limp dark hair. "You lads remember where the guest rooms are?"

Liam almost stops him, but Sophia gives him a look, so instead he just mumbles "night, Nialler," and nuzzles into Niall's neck.

Niall tightens his hands in Liam's hair, just for a second, then steps back.

"Night," he says again, pinches Zayn's bum lovingly, then departs. They all stand in silence, listening to his footsteps creaking up the stairs.

It falls silent. Harry keeps his eyes screwed shut, like a stubborn child. Zayn shifts on his feet, uncomfortable.

"Fuck," says Liam, weary and lacking conviction.

"Anyone know where he keeps the alcohol, then?" Louis asks, probably joking. No one answers.

"What happens when we leave?" Liam wonders aloud. It's a chilling thought. His words fall heavy in the silence of this big, empty house and are quickly absorbed. Niall can't live in a place like this.

"I can only stay a week," Zayn says dully. "I've got, like. Meetings scheduled."

"I've got work," Sophia agrees. "And we can't keep the dogs in daycare too long."

"I can stick around for a bit, s'pose" Louis offers. He looks a bit ill, something brittle in his stance. "I've not got any pressing obligations."

"We shouldn't leave him on his own," Liam decides. "Not until we're sure he's--"

"Y'know we can't just, like, fix this," Zayn says, turning to look at Liam with intent eyes, "right? We can't fix him."

"He doesn't need to be fixed," Liam objects, unsettled. "He's Niall. He's--"

"This is a bunch of fuckin' bullshit," Louis decides abruptly.

Harry opens his eyes. Louis stands in the middle of the room, stance wide and defiant, shoulders stiff, stinking of cigarettes, blinking too fast. He looks defeated.

"God, 'm so fuckin' tired."

"Go to bed, love," Sophia suggests gently. "It's been a rough day for everyone, yeah?"

"Yeah," Liam agrees on a heavy exhale.

Louis stands stiff for another couple seconds, and then all the fight goes out of him, and he's standing there in his socks, bleary-eyed and messy-haired.

"Yeah, alright," he mumbles. "'Night, then. Downstairs bathroom, lads, okay?"

He turns away and Liam watches Harry's eyes flutter open just a crack, just enough to follow Louis' form as he leaves the room, then close.

"Go to bed, Harry," he suggests. "Stop snuggling with my girlfriend."

"I'm asleep," Harry tells him, eyes shut stubbornly, face drawn with weariness and sadness. "You'll have to carry me."

"You're a brat," Sophia tells him lovingly.

"G'night," says Zayn quietly, moving for a second like he's going to touch Liam's arm or squeeze his hand or something. In the end he just taps Liam, once, on the elbow and mumbles, "Try not to worry too much."

Liam snorts, because that's a ridiculous thing to say when everything has fallen to pieces and they've torn each other apart and he's only just now realizing the extent of the damage.

Zayn smiles a little like he knows it, too, and then departs with a fond little wave at Harry and Sophia.

Liam heaves a tired sigh and comes to sit beside Harry and Sophia on Niall's big leather sectional. Harry swings his legs up to rest in Liam's lap, kneeing him in the belly 'til Liam starts petting his shins.

Soph's browned hand, cool and familiar, finds its way to the tense muscles at the back of his neck, kneading in a way that brings tears of mingled pain and relief to Liam's eyes.

"Fuck, that's nice," Liam groans, letting his eyes fall shut at the sensation.

"Is this you two coming on to me?" Harry inquires disinterestedly, eyes still shut. "Need something to spice up your sex life now that Soph's pregnant? Because all you had to do was ask. S'a bit rude to just start on in without-"

"Harry," says Liam, "please stop talking."

"Kinky," says Harry, deadpan, eyes still shut. "Can I call you Daddy? Or is that a bit awkward, now that you've got a child?"

"Oh my god," says Liam. "I'm going to bed."

"Be up in a few, big boy," Harry calls after him.

He leaves Sophia and Harry giggling on the couch downstairs.

Louis looks up when Liam knocks on his bedroom door, which stands slightly ajar.

"Y'okay, babe?"

"Yeah, mate," says Liam. "I came to see if you were."

Louis shrugs and flops back on the bed. Liam comes to perch next to him.

"I want to fight Zayn."

"Don't do that."

"Harry, then."

"Don't do that either."

Louis turns to frown at him impatiently.

"Who then, Liam, am I supposed to fight?"

"D'you have to fight anyone?"

"Yes, Liam, because I am full of rage and have no outlet."

"Fight me," Liam suggests.

Louis eyes him like he's considering the offer, then shakes his head. "Nah, mate."

In the end, they take turns screaming into a pillow until Liam's throat is raw and Louis no longer looks quite so breakable.

"You're my best mate," Liam feels compelled to tell him suddenly, lifting the pillow from his face. "You really are. I'm sorry if, like. If I haven't been around so much lately but-"

"You sound like you've been sucking cock," Louis interrupts gleefully. "Say something else."

Liam sighs and lets Louis put him in a headlock. It's almost, almost normal.

...

Soph has to sleep on her back now, because of the baby, and she snores tremendously. Liam loves it, God help him, but tonight he can't seem to match his own breathing to her slow, rhythmic exhales. There's a headache pulsing tiredly behind his temple and every time he closes his eyes, he feels himself falling, then jerking to a stop.

After shaking off the sensation of a rope tied 'round his neck for the twentieth time, Liam eases himself out of bed. Sophia snores on, oblivious, as he creeps down the hall.

Niall sleeps with the door shut; he always has, and Niall is a man of routine. Liam opens it just a crack, ducks into the darkened room. It smells like Niall -- which is to say, leather and cologne and warmth and pizza.

Liam's already pulling the covers up around his shoulders when he realizes there's more than one other body in this bed.

"You're letting in the cold air," Harry grumbles sleepily. Then, "Fucking cuddle me, you dick."

There's a Louis-shaped lump on the far side of the bed, and a tuft of brown hair in the middle, snoring quietly, that's gotta be Niall.

It should be too hot, too crowded, with four full grown men in the bed, with Harry's hair in Liam's mouth and Louis mumbling in his sleep and Niall snoring, and yet.

Zayn creeps into the room only a few minutes later, bringing the smell of cigarettes and a momentary crack of brightness. He hesitates at the end of the bed.

"Took you long enough," Liam whispers, and then Zayn's laughing a little, barely more than a breath, and there's another warm body pressed against Liam's back, and he finally falls asleep.

...

Liam wakes up early, Harry's elbow jutting rather painfully into his kidneys. The ceiling fan overhead is whirring comfortingly. It's still dark outside.

Niall's gone.

Liam makes himself descend the stairs at a normal pace, does not allow himself to indulge in the panic that laps up at his throat, stinging and salty.

Kanye's at the back door, and Liam lets him out mechanically, keeps moving.

Niall's asleep on the couch in the den, Annie resting watchfully at his feet.

Liam does not allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He keeps his breath measured and goes to start coffee.

Harry appears a while later, tying his hair up.

"Is Niall--"

"Asleep on the couch," says Liam quietly. "Want coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks," says Harry. He takes the mug that Liam fills and holds it in his hands, not drinking.

Liam watches him. "Y'alright, mate?"

Harry is... a lot of things. A tangle of joy and goofiness onstage. A cuddler. Detached and a little bit cold. Needy. So, so smart. Laughs like a donkey braying. Quirky. Terrifying when he's angry. Charming, scarily charming. Odd. Kind. Emotive. Manic. Distant. Loves with his whole being. Loses interest so very quickly.

Liam has hated him in the past three years just as often as he's loved him. Sometimes he thinks he just doesn't really know him at all.

Harry looks down at his coffee mug, then back up, which is how Liam knows he's going to lie.

"I'm just thinking about Zayn and Louis waking up in bed together," he says slowly, and he smiles a little bit. "Louis' going to be so angry."

And Liam laughs, despite himself. Harry looks away, sips his coffee.

"It's okay if you're having a hard time," Liam whispers.

Harry doesn't answer. Liam doesn't try again. After a minute of silence, it's easy to pretend he didn't say anything at all.

"Mornin' lads," Niall sings cheerfully, padding into the room with Annie at his heels. "Take a seat, I'm makin' breakfast today."

Liam sits obediently. Harry comes around the island to hug Niall, press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Want coffee, Ni?"

"Yeah, thanks, pet," says Niall, patting Harry's bum affectionately. "Then sit down and let Chef Horan work his magic."

"Sleep alright?"

"Yeah, good," says Niall carefully, face concealed as he rummages through the refrigerator.

"Can't say I'm used to sexy blokes creeping out of my bed in the early hours of the morning," Harry says, good-natured. "Usually the other way 'round."

"I'm a free spirit, Styles, can't tie me down," says Niall, smacking his own arse. "Love 'em and leave 'em, that's me."

He straightens, closes the refrigerator door, comes to stand at the island's stovetop. He cracks a couple eggs before he speaks again, eyes still downcast.

"Just got a bit claustrophobic, y'know how I am... Morning, Lou."

Louis is standing in the doorway, sleepy-eyed and disgruntled. Liam glances over at Harry, hoping to share in another laugh at the thought of Louis waking up in a bed with Zayn. Only Harry's still looking at Louis, throat working visibly. He doesn't appear to be blinking.

"How's an omelette sound, Tommo?"

"Bloody brilliant," Louis decides, coming to lean against the kitchen island. "D'you get the newspaper up here, Nialler?"

Niall stops, frowns. "Dunno," he says finally. "Can't remember."

"It's no trouble," Louis rushes to assure him. "Only m'phone died yesterday and I want to make sure the world hasn't ended in me absence."

Liam snorts. Louis flips him off, then counteracts this by coming to cuddle up against his side.

"I've got a charger in my room," Harry offers, watching them.

Louis steals a sip of Liam's coffee, swallowing before he answers.

"Nah, I'm alright, actually. Don't much fancy reading all me emails. And I've got my boys up here, who else do I need?"

"Aw, Tommo," Liam coos, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Bugger off," Louis laughs, shoving him away. "Y'alright, Irish?"

"'Course."

"Happy?"

"Always am," says Niall determinedly.

"Bless you for that," says Louis, something sad in the twist of his smile. He hugs Niall from behind then, and refuses to let go no matter how much Niall yelps and struggles and protests about burning the eggs.

Liam laughs, happy, and Harry smiles down at his coffee cup. The eggs burn.

...

"Think I'll go for a run after this," Harry announces once they've all sat down to breakfast. "Explore a bit."

"Might join you, bro," says Liam, "if that's alright?"

"Obviously," says Harry, but he looks pleased. "We can bring the dogs."

"Dunno about Annie," Sophia laughs, "but Kanye won't last five minutes out there in the wilderness. He's a fuckin' princess."

"Still can't believe you named your dog Kanye," Louis mutters, but he's smiling.

"He's very manly," says Liam defensively.

"I've been meaning to start running," says Niall abruptly. "Mind if I tag along, lads?"

"Think you're up to it?" Zayn inquires mildly.

"'Course he is," says Harry through teeth clenched in a smile, eyes glaring at Zayn. "Look at him, he's the pinnacle of health. Flex for us, Niall, flex."

Niall laughs and plays along, kissing his biceps. Across the table, Harry pretends to swoon. He tips his chair back too far, nearly topples over, but Louis rolls his eyes and yanks him upright just in time. Niall howls with laughter.

"Oops," says Harry, still grinning his manic grin.

"Chill out before you pop a blood vessel, smiling like that," Louis mumbles, under the cover of Niall's happy cackles. "S'creepy."

"Well I," Sophia announces grandly, "am going to lay on the couch all day and watch soaps and complain 'til someone rubs my feet."

"That sounds pretty good to me," says Zayn quietly.

"Looks a bit gloomy now," says Niall, peering out the big picture window, "but if it's sunny in the afternoon, there's a path so we can get down to the beach. Muck about a bit."

"I didn't bring my trunks," mourns Liam.

"Guess we'll have to skinny-dip then," says Harry, feigning disappointment.

Niall laughs. "Fuckin' pervert."

"I've got an announcement," says Louis imperiously. "And the announcement is that I'm going to cook dinner tonight. With no help from anyone. Just me."

Harry nods encouragingly. Everyone else stares. Louis basks in it, always happy to be the center of attention.

"Jesus, Tommo, think I've had enough near-death experiences for one week," Niall snorts.

Louis stops grinning.

It's the first time they've acknowledged it. There's something lodged at the back of Liam's throat, or maybe it's just the rope tightening around his neck. He chokes. Zayn thumps him on the back gently.

"Too soon?" Niall asks.

"Too fuckin' soon," Liam confirms, once he can breathe again.

"Have a little class, Neil," Louis teases, still a little pale, getting to his feet, "or you won't be invited to my banquet tonight."

"This is such a bad idea," says Liam.

Louis grins.

...

Sophia's back has been twinging for days, and a night spent on an unfamiliar mattress has turned this twinge into a persistent, throbbing ache. She doesn't put up much of a fight, therefore, when Louis insists she leave the dishes to him.

"After I'm done I'll make you a tea," he tells her, "and then we can have a lie-in and talk shit about Liam."

Sophia laughs, lets him lead her to the couch.

"You doing alright?" she asks him gently, seizing his hand before he can turn away.

He looks surprised, almost, then rueful.

"I've been bitin' me tongue," he says grimly. "I'm on m'best behavior. Pretty sure if I start yellin' now I'll never stop, so. Yeah, love, I'm alright."

"Stoop," Sophia commands, "so I can kiss you."

"Soph," he gasps, feigning shock, "y'know I can't do that, not to Liam!"

She rolls her eyes, tugs his hand again until he crouches, presenting the sharp planes of his cheek to her. She presses a kiss there, squeezes his hand.

"You're doing good," she tells him. "M'proud of you."

Louis looks a little wobbly when he stands, but he smiles down at her.

"You're going to be a great mum."

He turns away before she can say anything else. She blinks back tears, turns her attention to the telly.

...

Liam likes running, likes the rhythmic slap of his sneakers on the pavement, the way his muscles burn. He likes that he doesn't have to think when he's running.

They descend the steep hill Niall's house sits atop, then follow the deserted road back towards the little town where Harry had picked up groceries yesterday.

After a couple minutes, Liam falls into the pattern of it all, the jolt of impact on his legs and the rasp of his breath and the pulse ticking beneath his jaw. It's easier, then, once he doesn't have to think so much.

They let Niall lead the way; he's most familiar with the area, and this way they can keep an inconspicuous eye on him. Annie follows along with great energy, leaping and bounding. Harry nearly trips over her twice.

Niall runs without complaint, but he's just come back from a weekend stay in the hospital and he's always had knee problems. Liam keeps his eyes fixed on the sweat-darkened patch on the back of Niall's t-shirt, watches the rise and fall of his shoulders for any signs of struggle.

Once they reach the outskirts of town, Liam lets his steps falter, makes a great show of doubling over and breathing heavily, hands braced on his knees.

"Mind if we walk the next bit, lads? Maybe try and find some water before we turn 'round? Not as young as I used to be."

Niall's not convinced. Liam can see it in the defensive set of his shoulders, the slight frown on his sunny face. All the same, he slows his pace, mentions there's a little grocery shop a few blocks down.

"Lead the way," Liam straightens, using the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face. "Maybe we can pick up some supplies for Tommo's grand dinner while we're at it."

"Fuckin' idiot's gonna burn the house down," Niall agrees fondly. He lets Harry interlock their fingers, swinging their clasped hands between them as he starts down the street.

"How've you been, Styles? What've you been up to?"

"Good," says Harry vaguely. "Doing some writing. Bored, mostly."

There's a black car idling at the curb. Liam glances at it as they walk by, catches a glimpse of their own reflection in the tinted window. He almost doesn't recognize them without Niall's sunshine hair.

"Annie and I are going to wait out here," Harry announces once they reach the shop, which is small and locally-run and vaguely picturesque. "If there is any sort of cubed fruit, would you please buy us some?"

"Course, Hazza," Niall says, petting Harry and then Annie with equal fondness.

"Bark if you need anything."

"Don't be condescending, Liam," says Harry loftily, and takes a seat on the curb, long legs splayed out before him. "We don't appreciate it."

...

Niall goes off in pursuit of water for Liam and alcohol for tonight while Liam collects supplies for Louis' dinner. He grabs a couple frozen pizzas, too, just in case.

"Got some fruit for the curly 'un," says Niall, crashing his shopping trolley into Liam's at the register. "It's not cubed, but he can fuckin' deal. Also pickles for yer missus, 'cause I heard you always crave pickles when you're knocked up."

Liam turns to look at him, struck with a sudden, almost painful surge of affection for this sad-eyed, brown-haired boy with Niall's grin and a gigantic glass jar of pickles cradled in his arms.

"She'll love 'em," he says thickly.

"Next, please," says the girl at the register.

Liam turns away from Niall, hands his card to the girl, smiles politely. She looks at him oddly, for just a second too long. Liam knows the look, has certainly gotten it enough in the past eight years, but he's not in the mood to engage right now. He looks away politely, pretends to be engrossed in the glossy headlines of the nearest shitty tabloid.

"Excuse me," says the girl abruptly, "but aren't you--"

Right then, a number of things happen at the same time.

Liam's eyes catch on a familiar name in the tabloid's headline right as Niall says "SHIT," and then the shop's front door is being thrown open, ringing the little bell above the entryway violently and there's a sudden commotion of barking and someone says _"excuse me sir but there's no dogs allowed in here"_ and someone else says _"oh my god isn't that Harry Styles"_ and Harry's yelling _"Liam!!! We have a situation!!!"_

And then there's the all-too-familiar flash of a camera and then someone yells _"Niall! Niall Horan! Is it true you tried to kill yourself last week?! Niall! Harry! Harry, can we get a couple pictures--"_

There's a colossal crash, and then a wave of liquid splashes over Liam's trainers, and Niall's standing there, dead-eyed, in a puddle of broken glass and pickle juice.

...

After the boys leave on their run, Louis does his best to keep busy.

He does the dishes, avoids eye contact with Zayn, cleans the kitchen a bit, bites his tongue, makes Soph a cuppa, and then there's nothing to do but retrieve the bottle of bleach from beneath the kitchen sink and stand outside the upstairs bathroom, steeling himself.

It's not as bad as it was yesterday.

He can pretends it's rust, mostly, if he breathes through his mouth and works fast. The bleach stings his hands and his eyes, but Louis just thinks about the fourteen MISSED CALL notifications on his phone, the morning after. Nothing hurts more than that.

The bleach works, thankfully. Twenty minutes later and the bathroom is sparkling and Louis's hands are shaking with how badly he needs a smoke.

"Alright?" Sophia calls from the other room as he stumbles into the kitchen. She sits up on the couch with some effort.

"Yeah," says Louis, shoving the bleach back beneath the sink and slamming the cupboard door. "Just- I'll be- smoke break, y'know."

He's out the back door before Sophia can respond.

Louis slumps against the deck rail, trying to steady his breathing. You can hear the sea from out here, if you listen. He's fumbling with his lighter, hands shaking, when someone comes up beside him.

Zayn takes the cigarette from between Louis' clenched teeth, lights it, hands it back impassively.

"Thanks," says Louis.

"Sure," says Zayn.

He turns away, resting his back against the railing, and lights his own cigarette. Louis watches him and everything about the action, about the look and sound and smell of him is achingly familiar.

Abruptly, Louis is angry. Angry, like he's been all day, all weekend, for the past three years and maybe even before that.

"The fuck're you doing here anyway?"

Zayn exhales a cloud of smoke. "Smoking."

"Well, _yeah_ , but _here_ , Zayn. Ireland. Niall's fucking house. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Niall's my friend," says Zayn quietly, calmly. Then, "You all are."

Louis wants to cry, he's so furious. He grips the wooden rail 'til he's sure he's getting splinters, wills himself not to lose his shit. He owes this to Niall.

"That's cute," he manages through gritted teeth. "Really fuckin' heartwarming, that. Just wondering, where the fuck were you these past couple years, hmm? Were you here, hmm? When Niall fucking needed you?"

He must strike a nerve, because Zayn turns and looks at him for the first time.

"Were you?" you asks coldly.

Louis punches him in the face right as Sophia yells from the other room. "BOYS! THERES A FUCKIN' PROBLEM!"

...

"Why've you got a black eye, though?" Liam asks for the third fucking time, leaning forward in an effort to get Zayn to look at him. Annie slams into him as she bounds across his lap for the window. He swears.

Zayn ignores him, takes the next turn too sharp.

"Christ, Malik, d'you know where the fuckin' brake is?" Louis snaps as his head cracks against the window. Zayn swerves the wheel and Louis slams into the window again with a _THUMP._

"Fookin--"

Annie cuts him off with another frantic bout of barking. She decides she's had enough of Liam's window, bolts back across Harry's lap to slam into Louis.

"Someone control this fucking dog!"

"I don't think she's ever been in a car before," says Liam, but no one answers.

He risks a glance out the back window. The black car's still there, cameraman hanging doggedly out the passenger window. Fuck. He turns around just in time for a face-full of curly fur as Annie surges back to Liam's side of the car, baying furiously.

"Y'missed the bloody turn!" Louis yells over the cacophony of barking. "Jesus fucking--"

"I know," says Zayn shortly, tattooed hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

_"YOU KNOW?!"_

"I'm not going to lead them to Niall's fucking house, am I?" Zayn snaps, whipping around another turn at a terrifying speed. "And someone shut that fucking dog up!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," says Harry politely, "but I think I'm having a panic attack."

Liam turns to look at him, craning his neck to see over Annie's curly body, and sure enough Harry's gone all vacant-eyed and white. The baby curls at his hairline are sticking to his forehead with sweat.

"Jesus fuck," Louis swears. Then, far more gently, "Hold my hand, Haz, you're alright. Breathe with me, love, yeah?"

Liam locks his arms 'round Annie's torso as she tenses like she might be about to run again.

"Shh," he says helpfully, petting the bits of her belly he can reach. "Shh, you stupid neurotic dog, you're alright. S'just a car, you're alright."

Annie quiets a little. Zayn drives in silence then, apart for Louis' quiet murmurs and the ragged rasp of Harry's breathing.

"Don't see them behind us anymore, do you?" Zayn mumbles, maybe fifteen minutes later.

Liam twists around in his seat, cranes his neck.

"Looks like we've lost 'em," he agrees with a thin note of relief.

"Can we stop? I need to get out, I'm sorry, please can we stop?" Harry's hoarse and sweaty and panicked.

Zayn pulls over wordlessly.

They're in the middle of the fucking Irish countryside. Annie bolts away the second Liam opens the car door, but after a few minutes she circles back, filtering between their legs quietly.

"Be right back," Harry mutters faintly, walks off by himself a bit. He doubles over like he's going to vomit, but doesn't, just stays there breathing heavily.

Zayn lights a cigarette.

"Niall," says Liam.

Niall leans against the side of Zayn's car, looking small and deflated and exhausted.

"It's alright," he says. "I figured it'd get out eventually. Just bad timing, I s'pose."

"Can I hug you?" Liam poses carefully.

Niall thinks about it, then shakes his head apologetically. "Not right now, nah. Gimme a bit."

Liam accepts this for what it is. He leans against the car beside Niall and tries to breathe.

Far off to the left, Harry retches. Louis moves like maybe he's going to go to him, then stops. He stands blankly, arms hanging at his side, looking a little lost.

"Forgot what that was like," Niall admits after a minute. "Fuckin' awful, innit."

Harry retches again. Annie barks as a solitary car goes by. It's a battered old van, harmless, but they all stiffen 'til it's out of sight anyway.

"You should text Sophia," Zayn remembers. "She was freaking out. Had to stop her from jumping in the car after us."

"Thanks for getting us," Liam says, digging around for his phone. "The shop girl was lovely, locked all the doors right away and called the police, but it was. Scary. I forgot."

Zayn shrugs. Liam wants to grab him by the shoulders, shake him 'til his words come loose.

"I'm done throwing up," Harry announces, stumbling back through the overgrown grass to the car. He looks ghastly -- white and clammy and shaken -- but he smiles gamely. "You've got first claims on it, f'you want. There's big profit in m'roadside vomit, y'know. Top seller on eBay, last time."

"Pass," says Louis dryly. Harry hesitates and then moves to stand by him, shoulders hunched defensively.

"You okay, Niall?" he asks.

Niall's crouched beside Annie, face partially obscured by her curly head. He looks up with a shaky smile at Harry's words.

"Workin' on it."

Zayn stamps out his cigarette, wordlessly nods his head toward the car. They follow slowly, unhappy to return to its cramped confines.

Louis lets Harry have the window seat, fitting himself into the middle.

"Thanks," Harry mumbles. Louis ignores him.

"D'you know how to get back from 'ere, Malik?"

Zayn shrugs. "I'll figure it out."

"I know where we are," says Niall. "It's fine, we're not far."

"Thank God," says Louis sharply. "Why's Zayn driving the getaway car anyway? You're the worst of all of us."

"It's my fucking car, yeah?"

"I got ice cream," Liam remembers sadly, Annie squirming on his lap. "It'll have melted by now."

"Louis," says Harry abruptly. "What's the matter with-- Is your hand broken?"

Zayn, strangely enough, bursts out laughing.

...

Sophia runs fast, for a pregnant woman. She meets them halfway up the walkway, bypassing Liam entirely to grab Niall by the hands.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," says Niall. "Wonderin' who tipped off the media, y'know. But alright."

"I'll call my lawyer," says Harry immediately, pulling out his phone.

"We'll fucking destroy 'em," Louis adds viciously. "Just gotta take the offensive, discredit the source, sue the hospital, fire whoever's responsible."

It's sad, Liam thinks, how good Louis is at this stuff. Twisting the story. Covering tracks.

Niall's phone starts ringing. He gently disentangles his hands from Sophia's, digs his phone from his pocket.

"Shit," he says, goes pale. "It's me mum."

He stands there, frozen, watching the phone ring. Liam doesn't get it. He frowns.

"What's the--"

"I might possibly," says Niall, looking up guiltily, "have neglected to tell m'family I was in the hospital."

It's quiet.

"You didn't tell your mum," Louis says slowly, "that you'd been admitted to the hospital. For attempted suicide."

"Louis-" says Zayn sharply as Harry visibly flinches at the word. Sophia makes another grab for Niall's hand, but he steps out of reach.

"Probably saw it on the news. Christ, she's gonna be difficult about this."

"Well no bloody wonder!" Louis cries. "She's your fucking mum!"

Liam's phone starts ringing. He looks down, then up at Niall guiltily.

"It's Maura. She must know I'm with you."

"Fucking _SHIT_ ," swears Niall, with so much sudden force and venom that Liam takes a half-step back.

_"Shit shit shit--"_

In the next moment, Louis' strode across the porch, snatched the phone from Liam's hand, and put it to his ear.

"H'llo, Maura?... It's Louis, actually... Yeah, I'm alright, considering... He's just here, actually, yeah, I'll put him on for ya... Lovely talkin' to you, too, love, kiss the grandbabies for me-"

And then he's standing in front Niall, cold-eyed and grim despite his conversational tone. He holds out the phone.

"It's for you."

Niall stares at him, stricken. He looks like a child suddenly, helpless. Louis stands there, without sympathy, sharp as a razor.

"Louis," croaks Harry. "Leave 'im alone--"

It breaks the spell. Niall takes the phone, puts it to his ear, stalks into the house without a backward glance.

"H'lo? Mum?"

The door slams behind him. In the next second Liam's got Louis shoved up against it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Liam-" says Sophia sharply. He ignores her.

Louis looks back at him coldly. He's so very good at being mean.

"He's twenty-six years old. I'm not going to baby him anymore."

"That was not your decision to make-"

"The lad tried to _kill himself_ a couple days ago, Liam," Louis snaps. "Don't think he's really in the state to be makin' decisions just yet."

"Stop saying it," says Harry weakly. Louis turns to sneer at him.

"What, that he tried to _kill himself_?"

"Stop-"

"Want to pretend that's not what happened? That we didn't leave him all by himself in this fookin' house while we went on with our petty fucking lives--"

"Louis," Liam says warningly.

"We didn't know," Harry whispers. "We didn't--"

" _THATS THE BLOODY PROBLEM_ ," Louis roars. "Why the _fuck_ didn't we know??"

Harry opens his mouth, closes it.

"He's got a point," says Zayn quietly, and Liam rounds on him in fury.

"Oh, now you want to say something? Now you've got something to say? You don't get a fucking opinion here, mate."

"I care about Niall just as much as the rest of you," Zayn argues, voice rising. Louis laughs out loud.

"You've been gone for years," Liam shouts. "You _left_! And the rest of us had to go through all that shit together! I called and called, Zayn. You don't get to stand here now and act like--"

His words trail off in a wordless yell as a blast of icy water hits him in the back.

When he turns, Sophia is standing grimly on the porch steps, garden hose held before her like a weapon.

"What the _fuck_ ," says Zayn, drenched.

"This is what I do when the dogs start fighting back home," Soph answers coolly. "You act like animals, you get treated like fucking animals."

Everyone stares. Sophia, petite and hugely pregnant, brandishes the hose threateningly. She is fucking terrifying.

"Now. Liam, help me bring the groceries into the house. The rest of you get inside and dry off and don't you _dare_ let this happen again, _especially_ not in front of Niall."

Silence.

Liam is suddenly aware of his fingers digging harshly into Louis's shoulders, keeping him pressed against the door. He swallows. Steps back.

Harry says quietly, "Y'should ice your hand, Louis."

Sophia stands grimly, glaring, 'til they've all retreated into the house, figurative tails between their legs.

Liam stands on the porch, light-headed. The anger's gone now, and it's left a hollow sadness in its place.

"Help me with the groceries," Sophia repeats, throwing down the hose and stalking off to the car. Liam follows, because he always does.

She stands at the boot of the car, arms folded, and watches Liam pick up the packages. In the panic of escaping the shops, the bags were very sloppily deposited. There are apples scattered across the trunk, and the ice cream has indeed melted.

"I'm sorry," Liam says finally.

"Niall doesn't need this right now," she snaps, stuffing apples back into a plastic bag rather violently.

"I know," Liam admits. "It's just. Hard."

"Harder for him than it is for you, I'd reckon."

"Sometimes I think we all care too much," Liam says. "Love or hate, can't do anything halfway."

She sighs, relenting a little. "Give me a package, then. No use making two trips."

"Not a chance," says Liam, gathering a clumsy armful. "Doctor said no heavy lifting."

She's annoyed -- "I'm not an invalid, Liam" -- but she slams the trunk and then hurries ahead to open the front door for him.

He pauses in the doorway, pressing his mouth to the curve of her neck and biting gently. "I love you."

"Fuckin' caveman," she says, begrudgingly fond. Then she pauses, sniffs, pulls a funny face. "Why d'you smell like pickles?"

...

Louis sits on the kitchen counter, socked feet dangling, and watches Harry dump ice cubes into a plastic sandwich bag.

"Could've done this meself," he grumbles, but Harry ignores him.

He's sunk into himself, the way he always gets when things get tough. He stands taller, talks more deliberately, eyes cool and vaguely impersonal. Louis hates him like this.

"If the swelling doesn't go down you should see a doctor," Harry says, vowels clipped. He hands Louis the make-shift ice pack.

"It's just a bruise," Louis maintains, clumsily arranging the ice over his slightly twinging hand (okay, it hurts like the fucking devil).

Harry watches him struggle for a minute, cold-eyed. Then he sighs impatiently and snatches back the ice, grabs Louis' hand and holds it there himself.

"I'm not incompetent, I can ice my own fuckin' hand."

"Can't throw a punch, though, can you?"

Louis stares at him. Harry rolls his eyes.

"Zayn's got a black eye and you've got a swollen hand. Despite what you may think I'm not an idiot, Louis."

"I don't think you're an idiot," Louis protests, surprised.

Harry looks up at him, lips pursed, something inscrutable in his eyes. Louis doesn't know what to do but look back, helpless.

"Didn't know you still had panic attacks," he says finally.

Harry's lashes flicker, eyes fixed on Louis' hand. He doesn't say anything.

"That happen a lot?"

Harry shrugs. "Sometimes," he says begrudgingly. "More when I'm touring."

"Don't tell me you still get stage-fright?" Louis says, fighting to keep his voice casual, joking. "Surely you've realized by now you're not _completely_ shit?"

Harry doesn't smile. "It's not, like, a rational thing."

Louis tilts his head, ducks his chin, so he can look up into Harry's down-turned face. His hand is significantly bigger than Louis' but he is so very young. There are still tiny freckles on his nose, if you know where to look.

"You're not shit," he tells him seriously. "We're all really proud of you."

Harry swallows and his mouth opens as he takes in a breath, like maybe he's going to say something, only then Liam barges into the kitchen with an armful of shopping bags, and Harry looks away, smiles a little sadly.

...

Liam sets down the groceries, then stands there a little awkwardly. Louis' sitting on the counter, feet dangling, and Harry's stood next to him, holding his injured hand. They're not arguing, thankfully, just standing there looking kind of sad.

"There's food," Liam says rather stupidly, "if you're still planning to cook dinner."

"Oh," says Louis. He looks small, hand engulfed in Harry's, socked feet dangling over the floor. Liam doesn't understand him at all, sometimes, the softness and the sharpness of him.

"There's frozen pizzas, otherwise." Liam shrugs. "Dunno how frozen they are by now, but."

"Got it," says Louis. "Thanks."

Liam stands there another second, then shrugs. "Yeah, sure, mate."

He starts unpacking groceries,

"Where's Zayn?" Harry asks. "He should ice his face as well."

Louis snorts, starts to say something mean, but Harry turns and frowns at him.

"Stop."

It works, by some miracle. Louis kicks his feet and scowls mutinously, but stays quiet.

"Soph went to find him," Liam tells Harry.

Harry nods, stepping away from Louis to fish around in the nearest shopping bag. He retrieves an apple, polishes it on his shirt -- something Liam has only ever seen done in cartoons -- and takes a big bite.

"And Niall?" he asks through his mouthful of fruit, very casual except for the way his shoulders hunch defensively, like he's anticipating an attack.

"I'm here," says Niall dully, appearing in the doorway. "I've got your phone, Payno."

"Thanks," says Liam, pocketing his phone, eyes fixed on Niall as he retrieves a glass from the cupboard and moves to the sink to fill it.

"How'd it go?" Louis asks, with an attempt at flippancy. It's unconvincing.

Niall shrugs. When he speaks it's flat and unemotional, eyes fixed out the window.

"Told her it was just the media talking shit, like they always do. Had a mishap in the kitchen, 'ad it stitched up, all's well. She still yelled a bit. Y'know how Mums are. Think I talked 'er down but she wants me to come stay at home for awhile."

"You didn't tell her?" Liam stares.

Niall shrugs, something mulish in his eyes. "Didn't want 'er makin' a fuss."

"Niall," says Louis, but it's soft. Sad.

Niall shrugs impassively. Takes a sip of water, swallows. Looks down at the glass in his hand. Hurls it at the floor with all his strength.

It shatters loudly. Kanye starts barking, somewhere.

"FUCK!" Niall yells. "FUCKING-- _FUCK!"_

"Niall," says Louis quietly, sliding down from the counter. He looks terrified.

"Fuck," Niall says again, with less conviction. His voice breaks. "I don't-- I can't-- _FUCK-"_

"I'll get a broom," Harry murmurs, slips away.

"Niall," says Louis again.

"It's fine," says Niall. He's breathing hard. "I'm fine. I'll clean it up, I'm sorry."

"Niall," Liam says. What else is there to say, really?

"She was cryin'," Niall whispers. "And she asked me _why_ and I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell her I wanted to- to-"

"Come over here before y'step in glass, Niall," Louis directs. His voice is sharp and demanding and leaves no room for argument. Niall obeys. He's always come when Louis calls.

"I'm mad at you," he mumbles, even as he lets Louis pull him into a cuddle.

"I'm mad at you, too," Louis says, hugging him forcefully. "You lied to your mum."

"She doesn't deserve this."

"Neither do you, love."

Niall starts to cry. "I hate this. I hate it. I hate you, sometimes."

"I know," Louis whispers. "That's okay."

"I'm mad all t' time." Niall sobs. "I don't know how to stop. I don't want it. I don't want to hate my boys. I don't want to be- like this-"

"Be angry with me then," Louis suggests, swaying with the force of his hug. "I can take it. It's easy to hate me."

"You're a right dick," Niall agrees, emitting something between a laugh and a sob. Louis laughs, too, and sways them some more.

"I know."

Harry returns with a broom. He begins to sweep wordlessly.

"We can't keep pretending this didn't happen, Niall," says Louis gently.

Niall doesn't answer.

Liam wants to sink to the floor and cry, but instead he goes to find a mop.

...

"I'm sorry about back there," says Zayn before Sophia can even knock on his door, which stands slightly ajar.

Sophia shrugs, accepting his apology for what it is. "I'm sorry I sprayed you in the face with a hose."

Zayn looks at her for a long moment, and finally smiles a little. "No, you're not."

It startles a laugh from her.

"No," she agrees, "guess I'm not. Y'deserved it, the lot of you, fighting like that."

Zayn shrugs, a little sulky. "It's hard, when it's them."

There's a crash downstairs. Zayn moves towards the door, but Sophia blocks his way.

"They love you. They do. And you love them too."

"Sometimes," says Zayn slowly, "towards the end, I couldn't tell if I hated or loved them. Sometimes both at once. It's, like. Too much. We all care too much."

Sophia frowns a little. "You know, Liam said nearly the exact same thing to me."

"Liam would know," says Zayn. "He's good at that. Caring too much."

"I don't think there's such a thing."

Zayn shrugs gloomily.

"Sometimes I still think we're going to destroy each other."

He says it very convincingly, what with the cut of his cheekbones and the melancholic smoulder of his eye. Sophia stares at him for a moment, incredulous, then shakes her head.

"You all love each other. You're just a bunch of daft boys who don't know how to talk about your feelings. Stop sulking. Niall needs you."

Zayn looks like he's considering being offended. Sophia takes the opportunity to stretch on tiptoes, prod at his blackening eye gently.

"You should ice that, love."

"Louis doesn't know how to punch," Zayn says, shrugging. "It's nothing."

"Bloody boys," Sophia sighs. She takes Zayn's hand and tugs at it kindly. "C'mon, I've got to go make sure no one's dead downstairs."

She realizes her mistake a second later and flinches.

"Didn't mean it like that," she whispers, chastened.

Zayn squeezes her hand. When he brushes past her, she lets him go.

...

Downstairs, things have descended into madness.

The radio's playing in the kitchen. Louis's sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, cracking eggs into a bowl with great relish. He's got an ice pack duct-taped to his hand. Harry's leaning against the island opposite him, talking on the phone at an alarmingly fast pace.

"--yeah, we've got it narrowed down to hospital staff, no one else knew-- no, not the family-- yeah, yeah, call me back--"

In the den, all the furniture has been pushed up against the wall. There's a coffee table balanced haphazardly atop the love seat. And standing in the middle of the newly-emptied room are Niall and Liam, golf clubs in hand.

Sophia stands in the doorway and stares.

"What," she says slowly, delicately, "the fuck."

"We're playing golf," says Niall. He looks small, tired, slightly tear-stained, but cautiously happy. "Want to join?"

Sophia stares for another minute.

"I'll pass," she decides finally. "The only interest I've got in golf is Liam's arse in those golf pants."

"What arse?" yells Harry from the other room. Then, apologetically, "Oh, no, I wasn't talking to you, sir, sorry. I'm sure your arse is lovely--"

Louis bursts out laughing.

"It's small, but plucky," Sophia says. "You'd be surprised."

"Don't objectify me!" Liam cries indignantly.

"I'll play," says Zayn hesitantly, so quiet you almost could miss it.

Niall hears, of course, because Niall always listens. He grins so wide it looks painful, yells, "There's a lad!"

"I'm shit," Zayn cautions.

"So's Liam," Niall shrugs. "Now get 'ere, I've got to explain the point system. It's extra if you can putt it from behind the sofa, but watch for m'shelves. Don't want those beauties gettin' dinged."

He beams at the shelf lined with shiny figurines -- Brits, VMAs, AMAs, Teen Choice Awards -- and then hands Zayn a golf club, drops his voice to a whisper.

"If you can hit that fuckin' ugly sculpture shit Harry bought me, y'automatically win."

"It's abstract, you twat!" Harry yells from the kitchen. Then, "No, sorry, that was-- I didn't mean--"

"Y'win _and_ I'll buy you a pint," Niall amends, grinning.

Sophia watches as Liam tosses Zayn a golf ball and smiles goofily when he makes the catch. Zayn smiles back cautiously.

She goes off in search of some trashy magazines and a hot bath.

...

After a fucking hurricane of a morning, the afternoon drifts by relatively quietly.

They play golf. Niall makes a comment, light-hearted, off-hand, about how he hasn't golfed in months. Liam goes quiet, fumbles a shot.

Zayn laughs, soft and crinkly.

There's something tentative about it all, the subjects they're dancing around and the gazes they're avoiding.

Liam wants to catch Niall by his bandaged wrists, tangle their fingers together and knit the word into Niall's jutting knuckles, how much he cares and how fucking sorry he is.

Instead, he smacks a kiss onto the boy's cheek and goes to grab a beer.

The radio's playing cheesy pop throwbacks from the 00's, Justin Timberlake crooning quietly.

Louis is quiet, strangely. He drinks a beer as he cooks, consulting a cookbook occasionally. Harry sits on the kitchen floor, long legs splayed like a doll's, and talks quietly to his lawyers, then his publicists, then his agents, then his lawyers again.

Louis steps over him without comment. Harry looks up, watches him through his lashes.

Liam retrieves three beers from the fridge, then grabs another, offers it to Louis. A peace offering.

Louis shakes his head, but he smiles a little.

Harry says something quietly into his phone, staring at Louis. Liam watches Harry watch Louis for another long moment. He hands the beer to the younger boy, kicking at his leg gently.

"Come golf with us, Styles."

Harry dimples, but shakes his head, presses an affectionate kiss to Liam's kneecap for some reason.

"Gotta make sure the kitchen doesn't burn down."

"Fuck you," says Louis mildly.

Harry smiles down at his lap.

Liam pats his curly head fondly and goes back to the golf game. For some reason, Louis cooking doesn't feel like the most dangerous thing happening in the kitchen right now.

...

Harry hangs up the phone triumphantly and jumps to his feet. He stands there, beaming, waiting for acknowledgement. When it doesn't come quickly enough, he clears his throat pointedly over the hum of the radio.

Louis looks up. "What?"

Harry just grins.

"What?" Louis repeats suspiciously, smiling a little out of reflex.

"We got 'em."

Louis' eyes go big. "We got 'em?"

"Well, no," Harry concedes. "Not yet. But we've got a lead. Nurse on duty in the emergency room the night of... it."

Niall cackles from the other room as Zayn flubs a shot. Louis winces. Harry rushes on.

"She got a sudden windfall, so to speak. Big increase in the old piggy bank. Seems fishy."

Louis stares. "Why are you talking like a noir detective?"

A grin takes over Harry's face. "I'm so excited," he giggles. "It feels good to be doing something helpful."

Louis looks like he might make fun of him, for a second. Then his face goes soft and he gently kicks at Harry with a socked foot.

"All y'need now is a cigar and a foxy dame."

"You offering?" says Harry casually.

Louis looks up, catches his eye, snorts. Looks back down.

"Only got cigarettes, I'm afraid."

Harry almost says something dangerous like 'God, I've missed you' except right then something ridiculous happens.

_Doo. Doo-doo. Doo-doo. Doo doo da doo. Da-doo. Da-doo-doo-doo._

"No fucking way," says Harry flatly.

Louis, smiling so big his eyes crinkle, leans over and turns up the radio as loud as it will go.

" _FUCK_ NO," says Harry, at the exact same time as Niall yells _"FUCKING GET IN!"_

He throws his golf club in the general direction of the couch and dives for the kitchen. Liam follows a second later, skidding into the kitchen in his socks, a goofy sort of grin on his face and a golf club held beneath his chin like a microphone.

"YOU'RE INSECURE! DUNNO WHAT FOR! YOU'RE TURNING HEADS WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH THE DOO-OO-OOR"

Zayn comes to stand in the doorway, smiling cautiously. He's tapping his finger against his thigh to the beat.

"DONT NEED MAKEUP TO COVER UP-"

"Awful lyrics. Girls wear makeup for themselves," complains Harry, but no one's paying him attention.

This is not okay. Harry thrives on attention.

To remedy this situation, Harry vaults onto the island countertop, falls to his knees dramatically before Niall, belts with all the breath in his pop-star lungs:

"EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM CAN SEE IT! EVERYONE ELSE BUT YOU-OU!"

Niall stands there, shaking with laughter, so iridescently happy that Harry almost can't bear it.

"BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE!"

"I FUCKING HATE THIS SONG!" Louis yells, but he's turning the music louder. He's singing, too. Uninhibited. Laughing. Harry almost loses his balance, staring.

Liam tries to moonwalk. It's deplorable. Louis laughs so hard he falls to the floor.

"YOU DONT KNOW-OH-OH! YOU DONT KNOW YOURE BEAUTIFUL-"

Harry pulls Niall up onto the countertop, helping to his feet before dancing up on him goofily.

"IF ONLY YOU SAW WHAT I CAN SEE, YOU'D UNDERSTAND WHY I WANT YOU SO DESPERATELY-"

_"DESPERATELY!"_ Liam echoes in a perfect falsetto, even as he Louis puts him in a lovingly brutal headlock.

Niall smacks Harry on the arse playfully, scoops up a cheese grater and begins to play an enthusiastic air-guitar.

"YOU DONT KNOW-OH-OH! YOU DONT KNOW YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL! OH-OH!

Harry finds a whisk, stops grinding on Niall long enough to scoop it up and toss it at Zayn.

"THAT'S WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL!"

Zayn, still standing awkwardly in the doorway, fumbles the catch. He has to bend over to retrieve the whisk and comes up looking bewildered, then hesitant.

Then, incredibly --

"C'mon, then!" Louis yells.

\-- and then Zayn is smiling and his face is alight with happiness and he belts the next few lines into the whisk-microphone, smiling so wide he can barely sing.

"SO C-C'MON! YOUVE GOT IT WRONG! TO PROVE IM RIGHT I PUT IT IN A SO-O-ONG!"

Liam and Niall whoop in unison. Harry makes grabby-hands 'til Zayn laughs, bewildered and elated, and lets the younger boy pull him up onto the island as well.

Harry decides to share the wealth and starts dancing up on Zayn's bony arse as Niall takes the lead.

"EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM CAN SEE IT! EVERYONE ELSE BUT YOU-OU!"

Zayn tries to twirl Harry. Harry steps in the sink. Niall keeps singing, laughing too hard to be coherent, as both men crash to the kitchen floor with a manly sort of shout.

Zayn lays on his back, laughing at the ceiling. He's got his eyes screwed up and his mouth open and it's pure sunshine. Harry buries his face in Zayn's ribcage for a moment, lets his laughter shake them both.

Louis and Liam dance over. Harry lets Louis help him up, pulls him into a ridiculous, fast-paced sort of waltz before Louis can let go of his hands.

Louis's eyes scrunch up, laughing. Harry laughs back, intoxicated by the madness of it all.

"YOU DONT KNOW-OH-OH! YOU DONT KNOW YOURE BEAUTIFUL! OH-OH! THATS WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL!"

Niall stands atop the kitchen island, brown hair just brushing the ceiling, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Objectively, it's a terrible, generic piece of pop music that Harry could sing in his sleep, probably. And yet. It's... beautiful, if Harry's honest. Fucking beautiful.

...

The song ends and Liam is bewildered to find himself crying.

He touches a hand to his own face, stares blankly when it comes back wet.

Zayn is lying on the kitchen floor. Niall is standing on the counter, laughing. The first notes of a melodramatic Taylor Swift ballad play over the radio. Liam accidentally lets out a horrible sob.

The room goes silent. Niall's laughter solidifies mid-air, like soap bubbles turned to ice.

Liam inexplicably sobs again

"Jesus, Liam," says Louis, exasperated. "Stop crying, this one's not even about Harry."

"That we know of," says Harry serenely, but he's staring at Liam. "You can never be sure."

"I don't know what's--" Liam starts, and then another sob rises in his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, chokes it back. There's a rope tightening at his neck.

"Liam and I are going for a walk," says Zayn smoothly. He's on his feet in an instant, familiar fingers gripping the crease of Liam's elbow. "C'mon, babe."

Niall stands on the counter, face peculiarly blank.

Liam can't stop crying. Zayn keeps a gentle, but firm hold on his arm, leading him out the backdoor and down into the grass. The wind's coming off the sea, chilly and tangy. Liam tastes salt on his lips.

"You're okay," says Zayn, not even particularly soothingly, just stating a fact. "You're okay."

Liam can't breathe. He gasps, swallows back the taste of salt.

"I don't know what's happening-"

Zayn's hand moves to his back, rubbing gently.

"You bottled everything up too long and now it's hitting you all at once," he says. "Typical fuckin' Liam."

"I'm not even sad," Liam gasps, but the moment he says it he realizes it's a lie. Suddenly there's sadness weighing down his whole form, dangling from within his skeleton like a two-ton piñata. His knees buckle with the weight of it, the sheer mass of sadness that has suddenly fallen upon him. Or maybe it was there all along.

"Just cry it out," Zayn advises. "You'll feel better."

"This isn't- this isn't about me feeling better. This is- this is- _NIALL-_ "

"I know," says Zayn, still rubbing. "Stop talking for a little bit, babes. You're okay."

It's mid-afternoon. Cold. The air smells like the sea. Zayn smokes a cigarette and rubs Liam's back and Liam stands in the middle of Niall's grassy backyard and cries and cries and cries.

He cries for the boy with braces who slept on the top bunk at bootcamp and let awkward, serious-eyed Liam follow him around as he made friends with everyone he encountered.

He cries for the brown-haired boy sleeping alone on the couch downstairs. He cries for every other Niall in between.

"You're okay," Zayn says again.

Liam cries for Zayn, then, for the one they lost and the one standing here and rubbing his back. He cries for Louis' mean eyes and Harry's manic grin and for the boys whose voices they'd heard on the radio just now, that they have come to this.

"What happened to us?" he asks, once he can't cry anymore. His voice is shot. His head hurts. "How did we end up here?"

"Don't do that to yourself."

"It's... sad."

It is. It's sad. Tragic, even. Liam can't bring himself to cry anymore.

"It's not productive, to think like that."

"Niall tried to kill himself," says Liam, like he's shocked by his own words. _"Niall."_

"People change."

_"People_ change, yeah, not. Not _Niall_. Happy, sunshiney, up-for-it Niall--"

"We were unfair, reducing him to that. Expecting him to be happy all the time."

"He was happy."

"You think so?"

"How could he try to kill himself?"

Zayn doesn't answer right away. Liam coughs his throat clear, trying to shake loose the sensation of the rope tightening there.

"It wasn't real life, the way we were living," Zayn says thoughtfully. "I've never loved anyone like that, the way we all were. That's not... It's hard, like. To go from that to. Nothing."

Silence.

"We didn't stop loving you," Liam says.

Zayn doesn't look at him.

"I'm cried out," Liam says finally. "Might as well head back in."

Zayn nods. Turns towards the deck stairs.

"Thanks," Liam says to his retreating back. "And, like, sorry."

"You're fine," says Zayn quietly.

Liam stops at the top of the stairs. Holds his shoulders straight, refuses to let himself stoop under the weight of the sadness suspended inside him.

"Am I?"

"You will be," Zayn tells him. "We all will."

It's probably a lie. Liam lets himself believe it and goes back inside.

...


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, Harry Styles is going to write a song that is not about Louis Tomlinson.
> 
> ot5 love and skinny-dipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hi sorry for the delay! this is a little shorter bc i couldn't find another place to end the chapter so oh well im going with it
> 
> ot5 love and cuddling abound, gratuitous friendship fluff, skinny dipping, dogs, recreational drug usage, some tame poorly-written smut bc that's all im emotionally capable of, mentions of self-harm and suicide
> 
> enjoy!

...

Harry decides the best way to handle Liam's sudden lapse into hysteria is to turn into a manic Powerpuff girl, flitting around and talking too fast and smiling so wide his face starts to twitch uncontrollably.

He is very aware that he is panicking, and even more aware that he is not reacting constructively, but he can't seem to get himself to stop buzzing with manic fake-happy energy.

Louis takes pity on him, after a moment, tapping him on the balls and announcing that he needs everyone "out of my kitchen!!!"

"Niall," says Louis, "thought I saw a guitar in t'other room, yeah? Go get it. I need some live music while I work."

Once Niall exits the kitchen, still a little vacant around the eyes, Louis hands Harry a beer.

"Drink it all," he says, stern but not unkind. "You're okay. We're okay. Stop prancing."

For a second he looks like he's considering patting Harry on the arm or something, but instead he just pops the tab on the beer.

"Drink."

Harry chugs it obediently.

...

Three beers later, and Harry is embarrassingly tipsy, considering he is a multi-millionaire popstar and party boy. In his defense, he hasn't eaten much today.

Somehow he's ended up spread across the couch in the den, his head sharing Niall's lap with a chunky acoustic guitar.

"Haven't played in a while," Niall says, moving his fingers over the guitar strings gently.

"S'like riding a bicycle," Harry says, waving a hand dismissively. "Easy-peasy."

"Might be easier if I didn't have a curly head in my lap," Niall says fondly.

"Easier for you, maybe," Harry sniffs. "But significantly harder for me, Niall."

"You're such an idiot," Niall laughs.

He smells like leather and wood and good cologne and Niall. Harry loves him a lot. He tells him so, and Niall laughs again.

Louis drops something in the kitchen with a clatter and a heartfelt "Fucking hell!"

"Y'okay, Tommo?" Niall yells.

"Fucking dandy," says Louis with real viciousness.

It's so characteristic and weirdly endearing that Harry has to turn and bury his smile in Niall's stomach. Niall pets him kindly.

"You doing alright there, little Harry?"

"I'm a fully grown man, Niall," Harry tells Niall's stomach.

He allows the petting, though. He likes the petting.

"Done any song writing lately?"

This makes Harry stop smiling. He keeps his voice pitched normal.

"A bit."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing I can use."

"I'VE JUST BURNT MY HAND!" Louis yells from the kitchen. "THE NON-INJURED ONE."

"I can't-" Harry makes a frustrated noise, huffing out a warm breath against Niall's t-shirt. "I'm not happy with where I am right now. Like. Head-space."

One day, Harry Styles is going to write a song that is not about Louis Tomlinson.

"RIGHT, THANKS, LADS. THANKS FOR CARING."

"Maybe you should, like, realign your chakra. Smoke some more weed or summat."

Harry rolls over 'til he's lying face-up in Niall's lap, pouting vaguely.

There's going to be a day when Harry Styles is not in love with Louis Tomlinson. He's going to get there one day. And until then-

Louis' humming softly in the kitchen. If Harry listens to it anymore something terrible and awful and dangerous will happen, like he might start humming harmony.

"Play me a song, Niall. Sing my blues away."

Niall adjusts the guitar so it's resting between Harry's head and his own belly, takes a moment to reorient his fingers on the strings.

"Right, here's an old favorite."

What he lacks in practice he makes up for with pure enthusiasm as he pounds out the first few chords.

_"I knew you were trouble when you walked in--" _  
__

Louis cackles from the kitchen. Harry flinches, covers it with a pout.

"Fuck you, I'm the opposite of trouble. I'm, like, Trouble the board game. Good, wholesome family fun."

Niall laughs again. It's a good sound. He pets Harry's hair a bit, smooths a thumb along his eyebrow. It's nice.

"'Atta boy."

He continues playing gentle chords on the guitar. Louis' humming in the kitchen. Harry pretends he's asleep and then lies very still and listens, feeling a bit like if he makes any sudden movements, he'll scare this fragile little moment away, like a bunny or a baby deer.

And so he rubs his socked feet together and keeps his eyes closed and just listens. He doesn't know the song Niall's playing, but it's kinda sad-sounding. He wishes it wasn't.

...

Dinner is surprisingly good.

Louis shrugs. He's got ice packs taped to both his hands, but he's smiling, close-lipped and smug.

"I'm twenty-seven years old, lads, I can cook some fuckin' chicken."

"It's not burnt, though," says Liam in bewilderment, prodding at his plate with suspicion. "Are you sure Harry didn't help you?"

Harry shakes his head from across the table. He's flushed and big-eyed, slightly drunk. The boys have been working their way through the supply of beer in Niall's fridge all afternoon, but he's put a significant dent in it single-handedly.

"I was sleeping. And, like, talking to my lawyers. I didn't help."

"It's good," says Zayn simply.

Louis looks up like he's surprised. After a minute, he smiles hesitantly. "Thanks, bro."

There's a tentative peace in the room. Louis tells Soph about Lottie's new job. Zayn and Liam compare tattoos. Harry passes around pictures of Lux at the bus stop, gap-toothed and grinning, on her first day of school.

Niall makes a big show of taking a second helping. Louis rolls his eyes, but his smile lines crinkle.

After dinner, Liam and Louis tag-team the dishes, nudging hips companionably. Niall sits on the counter beside them, legs swinging. He's supposed to be drying the plates but mostly he's just egging on Harry, who is well past tipsy at this point.

"What's it called, like. When y'punch a hole in the side of the can and y'chug it straight from there?"

"Shotgunning," says Sophia. She's sitting on the floor, scrolling through her Instagram feed and absentmindedly feeding Kanye and Annie little bits of leftover chicken. "Only you need canned beer, not bottles."

"You've only got bottles," Harry tells Niall mournfully. "You're too fucking classy."

"It's a curse," Niall agrees.

Niall is wearing a backwards snapback and a loose vest that gapes at the armholes. On his feet, dangling from the countertop, are socks patterned with the colors of the Irish flag. He's also eating a chicken leg.

A nearly painful surge of affection wells behind Liam's breastbone. He flicks some dishwater at Niall to hide it.

Niall makes a great show of dodging, howling in indignation. Kanye takes up the cry.

"Shut up, you great fuckin' diva," Sophia says fondly, possibly referring to Kanye, possibly to Niall.

"Hold still," Zayn chides Niall quietly. "I don't want to hurt you."

He's sitting on the counter beside Niall, feet tucked neatly beneath him, frowning down at where he's got Niall's bandaged wrist in a gentle grip. In the other hand he's got a black Sharpie.

"Sorry," says Niall easily. He turns his attention back to Harry.

"I've got champagne 'round here somewhere, f'you want."

"Fancy boy," Louis remarks mildly.

Niall gnaws happily at his chicken leg. "Y'want classy I'll give you feckin' classy, Tommo."

"Remember when champagne was something for, like, special times?" Harry asks thoughtfully.

"You're drunk," says Louis.

"If I was drunk, would I be able to do this?" Harry asks him witheringly. He tries to stand on one foot, wobbles, and has to catch himself on the counter. Annie yips with fright.

Louis snorts and turns back to the sink.

"This is a special time," Niall objects, sunnily ignoring these proceedings. "Got my boys back together, what's not to celebrate?"

"Should I just go, then?" Sophia asks wryly.

"If it's not a bother, yeah," Niall tells her, cackling. "Y'don't mind sleeping in the car, do you, Soph?"

She flips him off, eyes fixed on her phone.

"Oi," protests Liam. "That's my child she's carrying, fuck off."

"Is it?" Louis says, clapping a soapy hand to his chest in feigned shock. It leaves a damp handprint on his jumper. "Wait, d'you mean to say... Soph, are you pregnant? Why didn't anyone bloody say?? Liam, this is LITERALLY THE FIRST TIME YOU'VE MENTIONED YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S PREGNANT!"

Zayn abruptly laughs aloud. Louis goes back to his dishes, looking pleased. Liam pouts, but lets his fingers briefly tangle with Louis' under the dishwater.

"It's not Liam's fault," says Sophia sweetly. "It's just I'm so bloody small. Hardly showing at all. Not, y'know, the size of a fuckin' whale."

"Stop that," Niall tells her forcefully. "I won't have that kinda talk in my house. So you can get the fuck out, Smith, if you're gonna keep lyin' like that."

"Stop flirting," Liam complains, only half-joking, as Sophia blows Niall a laughing kiss. Niall makes a great show of diving to catch it. Zayn makes a noise of disgruntlement as his canvas shifts once again.

"I'm getting another beer," Harry announces.

"You're gonna throw up," says Louis.

"He won't," says Niall encouragingly. "He's a man."

"So this is what masculinity feels like," says Harry wonderingly, ignoring Louis. He clumsily opens his beer on the edge of the kitchen counter, fratboy-style. "I feel so vulnerable."

"Oi, I never showed you the beach," Niall remembers abruptly. He picks at his teeth delicately, frowns at his fingernail, then sticks his finger in his mouth. "Remind me tomorrow. God, this was some good feckin' chicken, Tommo."

"Cheers, lad," Louis says, raising a sponge in the air.

"I could go for some fresh air," Zayn says abruptly. He's still drawing diligently on Niall's bandages, downcast lashes and slightly-parted lips, but he looks up then, smiles a little. "All these Sharpie fumes, y'know. Let's go to the beach."

"Yeah?" says Niall, slightly incredulous, grinning a little.

It's almost tragic, how happy he is. Liam stands a little straighter even as the sadness weighs heavier within him. He shrugs, smiles casually. "I'm in."

"I've got weed," Zayn remembers. He's now quietly doodling on his own sock in Sharpie. Despite the beard and new muscle tone, he looks young. Small. Skinny-legged, soft-spoken Zayn, smiling soft and mischievous as he lit a joint in the back of the tour bus.

"Y'brought weed to a suicide intervention," says Louis flatly.

Zayn shrugs. "S'fucking medicinal, innit?"

Niall cackles happily, clapping his hands together.

"Beer, bud, and babes," he says, hopping to his feet. "Sounds like a fuckin' party to me."

"And skinny-dipping," says Harry, from where he's lowered himself to the floor beside Sofia.

"You're being weirdly insistent about that," Sofia tells him, patting his shoulder kindly.

"Don't call my girlfriend a 'babe,'" Liam complains.

He knows he's being ridiculous, pouting visibly, but there's something about being here that's making him act like he's twenty-fucking-one again. They're falling back into the same roles, the same easy banter, the same stupid jokes.

It's dangerous. He knows it's dangerous. But Niall's laughing, and that can't stop. Liam won't let that stop.

"I was referring to your unborn baby," Niall tells him, giggling. "I'd never objectify Soph like that."

"Bless you for that," Sophia laughs, getting to her feet with some effort. Harry grips her hand courteously in a helpful gesture that really doesn't help at all, except to hold her hand. "But I think the babes are takin' a rain-check tonight, loves. I don't think I've got it in me."

"Never fear, Louis Tomlinson, ultimate babe, is here. I'll keep things sexy in your absence," says Louis cheerfully. He wipes his wet hands on his jeans and comes around the island to smack a kiss onto Sophia's cheek, then pats her belly lovingly. "Night, loves."

"Night, babe," says Sophia fondly.

She makes the rounds, dispensing cheek-kisses and clumsy hugs. Liam gets an additional pinch on the bum. Niall gets a kiss to each bandaged wrist and an extra long hug, but no one complains.

Liam really loves his girlfriend a lot.

Once her footsteps have creaked slowly up the stairs, Louis says bluntly, "No offense, mate, but why the fuck is that perfect human being with you?"

"Dunno," Liam laughs, not offended. "Wonder that meself, a bit."

"Any wedding bells?" Zayn asks.

Liam feels his face go hot, voice dropping to a bashful mumble. "Not. Not yet, like. But. It's, um. It's in the works?"

Harry, from the floor, makes an unearthly noise that falls somewhere between a manly shout of joy and a sob.

" _LIAM_! WHY DIDNT YOU FUCKING SAY?!"

"Shhh!!" Liam hisses, ears burning. "She'll hear. Just- it's not official yet, just-- _Jesus_ , Kanye, shut the fuck up--"

Kanye obstinately continues to bark. Annie watches him with some interest, but remains quiet, apparently too engrossed in gnawing at the heel of Harry's fancy boot. Harry has yet to notice.

"Let's take this outside," Niall suggests, helping Zayn down from the counter. "Liam, bring the dogs. Harry, the beer. Zayn, the weed. Louis--" he pauses, considering. "You can give me a piggy-back down to the beach."

"I'd be honored," says Louis soberly.

Niall kisses him wetly on the cheek -- _mwah_  -- and unceremoniously climbs aboard. Louis leads the way, Liam herding the dogs along behind him, as they step into the darkened backyard.

The moon is nearly full, so bright it almost seems fake. Harry is humming quietly. Louis is grumbling.

"God, Niall, why is your entire body made of sharp angles?"

"Those're my rippling abs."

"Not fucking likely-- what's digging into m'back right now, Niall Horan?"

"That'd be my throbbing erection, Louis," says Niall peacefully.

"It's the other chicken leg," Zayn interjects. "I saw him put it in his pocket on the way out."

"That's fookin' worse," Louis grumbles as Niall laughs.

Annie stops to pee on a tree. Liam has to hurry to catch up with the rest of the boys as they reach the end of the yard.

At the far end of the stone wall overlooking the sea, Louis stops. There, neatly closed off by a little wrought-iron gate, a flight of roughly-hewn steps is carved into the cliff, descending into the darkness below.

"This looks hazardous," Zayn mumbles.

"Atmospheric," Niall corrects. "Fuckin' atmospheric."

"Someone hold onto Harry, he's very drunk," Louis orders, and flicking on his phone's flashlight, he cautiously begins to descend.

Liam scoops up Kanye, gets a good grip on Annie's collar -- a makeshift concoction of braided rope and a spangly charm that was previously one of Harry's earrings -- and follows slowly.

"Zayn, hold my hand please, I'm drunk," says Harry politely from behind.

The sky seems larger than Liam had ever previously thought it to be. It's very dark, but the roar of the sea increases with each cautious step down. Kanye snuffles prissily in Liam's arms.

It's significantly colder once they've reached the ground. The beach is dark and chilly, more pebbly shingle than sand.

Annie breaks loose of Liam's grip and galumphs off to bark at the sea inquiringly. Kanye burrows further beneath Liam's armpit to escape the cold, salty wind coming off the water.

"Bit grim, innit," says Louis, crouching to set Niall on the rocky beach.

"Atmospheric," Niall repeats, unperturbed.

"I love it," says Harry, who has somehow made it to ground-level without killing himself and/or Zayn. "I want to write a poem about it."

"Well I'm fuckin' cold," Louis retorts, no real bite in his tone. He's hugging himself for warmth, elbows crooked, and he looks small, just a slightly-darker silhouette amid the darkness.

"Let's get that bonfire lit, then," says Niall, endlessly enthusiastic. "And then Hazza can write his poem while Liam tells us how he's gonna propose to Sophia."

"Also we're all going to get high," says Zayn.

He's just another shape in the darkness, origami-like, angular and fragile, but Liam knows he's smiling, just from the sound of his voice.

It's a terrifying, beautiful thing, to know a person like that. Liam stands in the pitch black, blinking as his eyes adjust, caught somewhere between loneliness and claustrophobia.

"Sounds fuckin' ace," says Louis, and he's smiling too.

Liam smiles, even though no one can see him. Annie's barking at the sea in the distance. A hand slots into his own -- it's Harry's, Liam knows it immediately -- and then Niall's marching off down the beach, talking excitedly.

Liam lets Harry hold his hand, following the sound of Niall's voice further and further into the dark.

...

Zayn and Liam build the bonfire. Niall nips back up to the house and returns with his guitar, a bundle of blankets and jumpers, and a bottle of champagne.

"Special night, innit?" he says, grinning. They all jump at the gunshot-noise as he pops the cork.

Harry wades ankle deep into the water and promptly retreats, because it's "bloody freezing." He comes back to huddle beneath a blanket and make unhelpful critiques as Zayn and Liam struggle with the fire.

Louis sits in the sand, busily rolling joints. Niall stands over him, holding a flashlight to illuminate the delicate process.

"You're supposed to make, like, a pyramid," Harry says, gesturing in the darkness. "Like, with the wood."

"How 'bout actually helping?" Liam grumbles.

"I am helping, Liam," Harry says snootily, "I'm supervising."

Niall takes a sloppy, foaming gulp of champagne and then hands the bottle over to Harry before an argument can start.

"Hold this for me, Hazza, yeah?"

Harry takes the bottle agreeably.

"Right, lads," Niall says cheerfully, settling down on a massive chunk of drift wood and taking up his guitar, "here's Wonderwall."

Liam laughs, but sings along.

_"Today_ _is gonna be the day-"_

"Toss me the lighter when you're done, lads, yeah?" Louis calls over the song.

"Might take a while," says Zayn mildly. He's given up on the whole process, sitting in the sand with his arms wrapped around his knees, quietly surveying Liam's fruitless efforts with the lighter and some bits of kindling. "Liam's shit at this."

Liam flips him off without a break in his harmony with Niall.

"I've got a lighter," Harry remembers abruptly.

He pads over to hand Louis the pink Bic lighter, blanket wrapped about his shoulders like a woolly cape.

"Cheers, mate," says Louis. He lights a blunt, takes a meditative hit, hands it off to Harry.

"Didn't know you smoked. Cigarettes, like."

Harry shrugs, flops down in the sand between Louis and Niall, resting his head on Niall's knee as he takes in a tingly breath. "Don't, really."

Louis doesn't say anything, but he keeps watching Harry as he lights his own joint, cheeks hollowing, the flash of orange light throwing his whole face into shadow.

Harry looks away.

...

It's cold and smokey. The driftwood wouldn't light properly for the longest time, and now everything smells vaguely of smoke and salt. And weed.

Liam and Louis lay on their backs, exhaling smoke at the sky. Louis is trying to find genitalia amid the constellations. Liam is trying to process the warm, contented heat building in his core.

He is also really, really drunk. Or high. Or some funny combination of sinking and floating. His lips taste like salt when he licks them.

Zayn and Harry are trying to blow smoke rings. Zayn is fairly successful, when he can stop laughing at the faces Harry is making long enough to purse his lips.

"Put your tongue, like--" Zayn screws up his face, trying to demonstrate.

Harry sticks his own tongue out, laughing helplessly.

Zayn moves his hand up to Harry's face instinctively, then stops, frowns in bemusement. "What--"

"Were you," Harry bursts into another bout of squawky laughter. "Were you going to _grab my tongue_?!"

Zayn's whole face goes alight when he laughs. Harry collapses onto him, a giggly, slow-motion body-slam. Zayn, characteristically patient, allows himself to be tackled to the sand.

They lay there for a bit, giggling as Zayn gently pets Harry's hair the way he likes.

"Y'okay, babes?"

Harry mumbles something into Zayn's ribcage that might've been "I missed you" but Zayn just giggles again and pinches Harry's nipple and fumbles about for another beer.

"You should get a boat, Niall," Louis says. "Proper booze cruise, y'know."

"Proper excuse for Louis to wear his stripes, you mean," Liam amends.

"Low blow, Payno," Louis grumbles as Niall cackles. "We all made some bloody questionable decisions at eighteen, alright?"

"I liked the stripes," Harry objects mildly. "And the suspenders. They were, like. Boyish. Cute."

Zayn snorts.

"Thanks, Hazza," says Louis fondly. "See, now I've got endorsement from a proper fashion icon, haven't I? So th'rest of you lot can fuck right off, thanks."

"Fashion icon, my arse. Remember when Harry used to wear that same awful puffy vest everywhere?" Niall muses. "And those feckin' trainers--"

"Remember when Niall got caught violently masturbating in that hotel?" Harry interrupts viciously.

"I was thinking about you in that feckin' Jack Wills hoodie," Niall counters, unphased. "Couldn't help it."

"Remember Niall's fuckin' hat?" Louis pipes in.

"Leave me hat out of this," Niall snarls.

"Remember when Liam shaved all his hair off?" Zayn interjects abruptly.

"OI!" Liam yelps, sitting up indignantly. "I'm an innocent party in this!"

Zayn shrugs at him, smiling angelically.

"You dyed your hair green," Harry tells Zayn kindly. "You should probably stay out of this discussion. For, like, your own good."

"You wore a flower crown to your last red carpet," Zayn sulks.

"And it looked bloody lovely," Harry agrees, smug.

"Remember when Liam used to straighten his hair?" Niall puts in.

"OI!" Liam yelps again. _"I'M MINDING ME OWN BUSINESS OVER HERE-"_

"Remember when Liam's penis was out in Brazil?"

"It wasn't out! They'd stolen my pants--"

"That was a lot of pubic hair," Harry intones solemnly.

"Remember when Harry--" Liam fumbles, comes up blank.

Harry shrugs, opens his arms welcomingly. "Nothing I do embarrasses me, Liam, go to fuckin' town."

Liam, shockingly, has to think for quite a bit before he can come up with something properly embarrassing.

"Remember when Harry thought the interviewer was in labor and he nearly shat himself with excitement?"

"That was cruel," Harry agrees. "I was ready. I could've done it."

"Remember Louis' Toms?"

"Remember Japan?"

"Remember meeting Robbie Williams and Harry cried?"

"Remember when Niall wrote a love song about Sophia?"

"Fuck you--"

"Remember Wagner?"

"Remember when Harry got chlamydia from a koala?"

"Remember when Zayn accidentally called Simon Cowell "Mum" that time-"

"I was fuckin' plastered, Louis told me it was m'mum on the phone, why would I question it--"

"Remember when Niall had a wet dream about Simon Cowell?"

_"THE FUCK-"_

"Oh, no, sorry," says Louis cheerily. "I made that one up."

"Remember that first week at the bungalow? When Louis and Liam hated each other?"

"I didn't _hate_  him," Liam protests at the same that Louis cackles, "God, _yeah_ -"

"That was a weird sexual tension," Niall says. "Thought you two were gonna have proper hate-sex."

 _"Jesus!"_  Liam splutters at the same time that Louis says musingly, "So did I, a bit."

"You _what_?"

"Heyyyy," Harry complains.

"I'm kidding," Louis says, sitting up enough to tug on one of Harry's curls, which is a good indication that he's fucking plastered. "He straightened his hair, Hazza, honestly."

"Oi," says Liam, offended despite himself.

"Liam and I kissed one time," Zayn remembers. "Wasn't bad."

"Wait a minute. Wait a bloody fuckin' minute. I'm the only member of this band," Niall says slowly, frowning more and more with each word, "who hasn't kissed another member of this band. That's not fuckin' on."

Louis gets to his knees agreeably, smacks a cheerful kiss on Niall's pouting lips. "There you go, babe."

"Hey," Harry mumbles again, pouting. Zayn pats him on the head.

Niall looks unaffected. "Bit scruffy. Not enough tongue."

Louis laughs, flopping back into the sand carelessly. His head lands somewhere in the region of Harry's lap, and he doesn't move it.

"Sorry, Irish, but I don't do blondes."

"I've been brunette for nearly a year," Niall complains.

"I think you're pretty, Niall," says Liam, crawling over Louis' legs to nuzzle his chin into Niall's belly affectionately. Zayn giggles.

"Remember when Louis dyed his hair red?"

"Remember when you had a life and stopped making bitchy comments about mine?"

Zayn stops laughing.

"Touché," he says begrudgingly.

Harry abruptly starts to giggle, the hand pressed to his mouth unable to stifle the noise. Louis grins up at him, crinkly-eyed, before he turns his attention back to Zayn, voice gently teasing.

"Besides, yours was every fuckin' color of the rainbow, mate, so pipe down, yeah--"

"It was, like, symbolic," says Zayn, but he's grinning ruefully. "I was finding myself."

Louis takes pity on him and turns back on his favorite target.

"Remember when Liam sang "Santa Baby" on his Christmas album, only he changed the words to "Santa _Buddy_ " to preserve his heterosexuality-"

"That wasn't my call-"

"Remember when we went skinny-dipping?" Harry asks, feigning nostalgia, then sours into a pout. "Oh, wait, no."

"You're such a brat," Niall sighs fondly.

"I just want to see your arse, Niall," Harry explains earnestly. "That's all I've ever wanted, really."

"It's fuckin' cold," Louis complains, but he's already sitting up, fumbling with the hem of his jumper.

"I'm so happy," Harry sighs. He fumbles his way out of shirt, then tries to help Liam out of his, but only succeeds in groping him a bit.

"Well done, Liam, you're fit as ever."

"Cheers, mate."

"I'm taking my pants off," Louis announces, and Harry immediately loses interest in Liam. "I'm gonna regret this."

"Absolutely," Zayn agrees. He stands there in his black briefs, scrawny pale legs on display, re-lighting the joint.

"Liam, your dog is looking at m'dick," Louis announces loudly.

"Count of three," says Harry, who is abruptly very naked. "Ready? One, two-"

Someone smacks Liam on his (bare) arse and then Louis' yelling " _THREE_ " and then they're all running into the sea.

Liam is breathless, laughing, and then he hits the water and stops short. It's icy, bone-achingly cold, and he has just enough time to think "FUCK NO" before a proudly naked Harry tackles him into the water.

He goes down with a howl, comes up laughing.

...

It's fucking freezing, afterwards. The boys end up huddled 'round the bonfire, half-naked and shivering, sharing blankets and passing around the last of Zayn's weed.

Zayn is freezing cold, clad only in his damp pants and the blanket he's sharing with Niall, but he can't stop laughing for some reason. His legs are tangled with Louis' and Liam has the hiccups and he is adorably angry about it and Harry's possibly passed out and Niall.

Niall is warm and mostly dry, his bandages having prevented him from doing much beyond wading. His hair has been slicked into a haphazard Mohawk, the work of Louis's salt-sticky hands, and he's red-cheeked and red-eyed and he's smiling just the smallest, tiniest, realest little smile.

"Hey, there," he says, winking at Zayn when he catches him looking. "What's the Craic, Malik?"

"Just happy," Zayn tells him truthfully, and inches his feet closer to the fire, nuzzles his face into Niall's neck. "Missed this.”

"Don't steal the blankets," Louis grumbles from Zayn's other side. His hair is a damp, feathered mess and his ankles are small, knobby, tangled with Zayn's. He's wearing one sock, his boxers, and Liam's jumper. Harry's sleeping on his chest and Louis looks a little bit terrified.

"Sorry, bro," says Zayn, rolling his R's in the silly, exaggerated accent he and Louis always used with each other.

Louis smiles back at him, small and genuine, without barbs for once.

Liam, on Niall's other side, hiccups ferociously. Zayn can't stop giggling.

"Where's my guitar?" Niall demands.

There's some shuffling, then Harry's long arm hands down the guitar. Apparently he's not asleep after all. Louis looks more frightened, if that's possible.

"You've got one shot here, Nialler," he says, clutching the guitar and ignoring the curly boy slumped against his shoulder, "to set the scene. You've got to really nail the song here, or the mood's ruined and Liam gets sulky."

"Oi," says Liam, and hiccups.

"Think you're up for the task, Niall?"

Niall thinks for a moment, then nods his head decisively. "Got it. I'm gonna fuckin' crush this, boys, get ready."

He situates the guitar in his lap, which involves a fair amount of jostling of Zayn, then clears his throat and orients his fingers on the strings.

The dogs are sleeping, curled up across the campfire amid their scattered pieces of clothing. The tide is going out and the air smells like salt and burning wood and weed and every time

Louis takes in a breath, Zayn feels his ribs, the warmth of him, against his arm. Liam hiccups quietly. Niall breaths in.

" _Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while, heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies-"_

"Oh," says Zayn, and he feels a bit as if he's been shot. There's a cold sort of shock radiating outward from his navel.

"No good?" Niall asks, hand stilling on the guitar, and he looks almost unsure for a moment, childlike.

Then, improbably, Louis' soft, warm rasp takes up the melody.

_"Let us die young or let us live forever, we don't have the power but we never say never-"_

Then Harry's deeper, throatier voice joins in quietly. Liam contributes a careful harmony, stuttered with the occasional hiccup. Zayn pipes in with a soft, hesitant falsetto.

" _Life is a short trip, the music's for the sad man-"_

Niall opens his mouth, shakes his head, closes it. He puts his head down and focuses on shaping out the chords.

" _Forever young, I wanna be forever young... Do you really wanna live forever, forever, forever young?"_

Louis looks at his lap as he sings. Liam looks at the sky. Harry looks at Louis and Zayn looks at his boys. His boys.

Harry's hair is a tangled, sodden mess, stringy curls hanging surprisingly long down his back. Louis' skinnier than he used to be, sharper. There's a solitary teardrop on the slope of his cheekbone, although it's probably just a drip from his wet hair. Liam's shoulders are set, resolute, but his throat works thickly.

Niall plays with his eyes shut tight. He doesn't fumble a single chord. Zayn rests his head on his shoulder and listens to the rasp of his breath, sings the words into the cotton of his shirt.

" _Forever young, I wanna be forever young... Do you really wanna live forever, forever or never?"_

The fire burns down and the tide goes out. Zayn cries, but only a little. It's too dark to see anyway, so it doesn't count.

...

"Sometimes I miss it so much," says Niall, later, once the fire has died. They're lying in complete darkness, shared blankets and tangled limbs, and Louis could almost imagine he's eighteen and tremulously, terribly, recklessly brave.

"Can you imagine, like," Harry shifts, hot breath on Louis' neck for a paralyzing instant, voice muffled and then louder as he turns to blink at the sky. Louis can just make out his eyelashes in the darkness if he stares. Which he isn't doing. "Imagine someone telling us, like, back then. That this is how it'd be. Could you have imagined everything we'd do? And that we'd end up, like-"

"Like this," says Zayn sadly.

It goes quiet, except for the lap of the sea and the rasp of their breath.

Eight years ago, they slept on a trampoline in Harry's backyard and it rained and they all got soaked and Harry and Louis held hands under the blankets and Zayn spoke haltingly, shyly, then more confidently and Liam let his hair curl goofily and smiled when Louis cracked a joke and Niall laughed and laughed and laughed.

Three days ago, Niall tried to kill himself.

"It wasn't as perfect as you think it was," says Louis quietly, remembering. "It's been a few years, so when you look back now it's all varnished, like. Idealized. Nostalgia makes it seem better than it was."

He doesn't know if he believes it, but he repeats it like a mantra on every inhale as his ribcage expands to nudge Harry's. Their ribs slot together like puzzle pieces.

_It's not real. It's just the story his brain's come up with to smooth over the ragged edges of it all._

"I don't mean the touring part," says Niall, "or the fame. I mean, like, you lads."

Liam hiccups.

"You were the best friends I've ever had. I've never, like. I've never had someone know me like that. Known someone like that."

"We were really young," says Zayn without conviction.

"People grow up," says Louis. "Change."

He doesn't look at Harry. Harry doesn't look at him.

"Doesn't mean we don't love each other," Liam says, firmly, but it's a plaster, a fuckin' Power Rangers bandaid on a gaping wound, a slashed-up wrist.

Louis wants to cry.

"I don't know how to-" Niall shifts, makes a noise of frustration. "I don't know how to. Not be. That way. I don't-"

"Niall," says Harry.

"I don't know how to be anythin' but Niall from One Direction," he says quietly. "I don't know how to be jus' Niall. Jus' fuckin' Niall in this big old house all by meself."

It goes horribly quiet then.

Louis thinks about all those MISSED CALL notifications and he can't breathe. Harry's hand finds his and grips, hard, like he's bracing for the awful thing that's about to happen. Louis' hand is shaking so bad he can barely find the strength to grip back.

"Niall," says Zayn softly, and there's an air of finality, of inevitability to his words. This is the terrible thing that has been coming and coming and coming. "Don't get mad, alright. But."

"Think I've got to call it a night, lads," Niall interrupts, suddenly and horribly jovial. "S'much as I love a cuddle, it's fuckin' cold and I don't much fancy being down here when the tide comes in.

"Niall," says Zayn again.

"Where've the dogs got to?" Niall asks, louder, clambering to his feet and looking about for the dogs, motions jerky and slightly frantic.

"I'll get 'em," says Liam, resigned, and his hiccups have finally gone. He stands and begins to pack things up.

"Fuck," Zayn breathes, and his head thunks against the cold sand heavily.

"Coming, lads?"

There's a real note of panic to Niall's cheerful tone. Louis takes pity on him, clambers upright and tugs Harry along.

"Niall," says Zayn, from the ground, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Sorry for what?"

The happy, bright tone is so unnatural it hurts. Louis winces.

"Just." Zayn sighs and stands. "Never mind. Give me the blankets, I'll carry something."

Niall whistles the whole way back up the beach, determinedly cheerful. It's painful to listen to.

As they start up the rough stone steps in the blackness, Harry's hands come to rest cautiously at Louis' waist, like they're doing a conga-line for two.

"Can I?" he mumbles. "'M drunk. Don't want to fall."

His hands are warm and massive, easily enveloping Louis's sides. Louis doesn't let his breath hitch, keeps his steps careful and deliberate.

"Yeah, alright, Curly," he says, and keeps climbing.

They pause at the edge of the yard as Niall fiddles with the gate, clicking the padlock back into place. Annie wanders off to pee. Harry sways on his feet a little bit, sleepy-eyed. His hands still rest loosely on Louis's hips, like he's forgotten they're there. Louis needs a fucking smoke.

Finally Liam, lovely wonderful Liam, yawns exaggeratedly and says, "I'm proper smashed, boys. Haven't drank like that in ages. Smell like the bloody sea, too, but I can't be arsed to shower."

"Soph'll thank you for that," Niall snorts.

Liam shrugs, voice careful. "Thought I might bunk with you, actually, Nialler. We can spoon."

But Niall's shaking his head, smiling a little.

"Think I'll be alright on me own for the night," he says. "I'm a big boy, y'know. Like to sprawl out a bit."

"I could sleep on the floor-"

"Really," Niall interrupts, sharp, "I'll be fine. Everyone to their own beds. I mean it."

It goes quiet. Niall doesn't snap, ever, and even he seems a little surprised.

"Reconvene in the morning for a proper hangover fry-up," he adds, trying for a softer tone. "But not 'til fuckin' noon at least."

"Right," says Liam, unconvinced but trying, as always, to smooth things over. "Back to the house we go, then."

Niall turns away, smile sagging off his slackened face the moment he's turned, and Louis feels sick.

"Think I'll stay back," he mumbles. His hands are shaking. There's a pulse throbbing beneath his jaw. "Need a smoke."

Zayn nods, scoops the load of sandy blankets from Louis' arms, and turns towards the house with a quiet, "Night, babe."

Liam grabs Louis' arm abruptly, earnest drunk eyes and expressive eyebrows, says, "I'm sorry about this afternoon. On the porch. I didn't-"

Louis had forgotten. That afternoon was decades ago and he's felt every emotion in the world since then. He shrugs Liam's arm off, pulls a wry face.

"No worries, mate, yeah? Love you."

"Love you," Liam repeats. He lifts his eyes to regard Harry curiously. "Coming, Styles?"

Harry shakes his head, a soft rustling of curls. Louis doesn't dare turn around, dislodge the warm hands encasing his hips, but he can picture his sleepy eyes and pouty lips and the gentle bob of his throat as he swallows, _goddamnit_ \--

"Want a smoke," he mumbles, voice deep and words rounded, jumbly.

"Right," says Liam. Before he turns away he levels Louis with a long look, then sets his shoulders like he's bracing for an impact. Louis knows the feeling.

...

Louis moves to sit on the stone wall. Harry lets him lead, sleepy eyes only half-lidded, hands resting lightly over the sharp jut of Louis' hipbones. His thumbs fit into the hollows there.

"Tired?" Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow as Harry stumbles over his own feet, landing clumsily on the stone wall on his bum. Ow.

"Hmm," says Harry. He doesn't feel up to words. His hands are cold now that they're not pressed against Louis' sides.

Louis straddles the wall gracefully, one leg towards the house and one towards the sea far below. He lights a cigarette with a businesslike manner, hands it off to Harry.

Harry takes a drag, though he hates it. He coughs and Louis smirks a little bit, takes it back and puts it to his own mouth.

"Alright?"

"Hmm."

It's quiet then.

"Y'can keep the lighter," Harry remembers abruptly. "I don't smoke, usually."

"Yeah?" says Louis, which could mean a million and one things, as usual.

Harry shrugs. "Rough week."

Louis doesn't laugh. He takes a drag and turns his face towards the drop-off, mere feet to his left.

"D'you know," he says thoughtfully, "if it'd been me, I'd've done it here."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asks, even though he knows. Of course he knows. It's the only thing he's thought about since he got here. There's too much blood in his brain.

_Mr. Styles, this is Carole with St. Francis Hospital in Mullingar. We've got your number off Niall Horan's emergency contact list. There's been an accident--_

"Like," Louis says, and there's a cruelty to it that Harry knows is deliberate, "slitting the wrists' a bit messy, innit? Seems simpler, like, t'just. Take the plunge. Let gravity do its bit, yeah?"

"Don't be a dick," says Harry, who can't quite breathe properly anymore.

Louis snorts. "It's been eight years, love. Dunno why you'd expect anythin' more."

He's so barbed, so deliberate and sharp and mean, but the cruelty's not really directed towards Harry at all. It's all inward.

Louis takes a drag at his cigarette, then abruptly flicks it away. For a moment it's in the air, a singed little star, and then it's gone over the edge. The sea hits the rocks below with a slow, grating brutality.

"That's littering," says Harry, trying to joke.

Louis starts to cry, just quietly. His shoulders sag and the breath goes out of him and he clenches his fists like he hates what's happening, but can't quite make it stop.

"Lou," said Harry, without any intent to finish the sentence. Just to say his name. "Lou."

Louis shakes his head, grits his teeth, clenches his fist. He cries in complete silence.

After a while, Harry works up the nerve to take Louis' fisted hands in his own, carefully keeping his eyes turned down. Instead he gently pries apart Louis' clenched hands, one digit at a time, taking the time to unfurl each finger, press the pad of his thumb into the soft skin behind each knuckle.

Louis stops crying eventually. He lets Harry hold his hands for maybe a minute longer, then he is swinging his legs over the wall to face the house, exhaling noisily. His shoulders go sharp and straight and defensive once more.

"Sorry," he says.

Harry wants to say _don't be_ and _me too_ and _one day I'm not going to be in love with you anymore_ but instead what comes out is "Fuck me."

Louis goes still.

"What?"

Harry is suddenly aware of the undercurrent of panic and need singing through his veins. His mouth is dry and he has to swallow roughly before he can speak again.

"Fuck me. Please. I need. Lou, please, I need-"

He needs a pressure at his wrists and a body to anchor his own down. He needs to close his eyes without thinking about death. He needs to not be in love with Louis Tomlinson, but at this particular minute he would settle for being fucked by Louis Tomlinson.

Louis looks terrified for a second, and then his eyes go kind-of hard and kind-of soft, all at once.

"Yeah, alright," he says, and he takes Harry's wrist, pulls him gently to his feet.

It's a loose grip, barely any pressure at all, but Harry's mouth is already going dry. He loses his balance when he stands too eagerly, falls forward into Louis' chest.

"Jesus, Harry," Louis says, steadying him, but it's begrudgingly fond and he smells like sweat and salt water and he lets Harry stay plastered to his back as they trudge across the yard, up the deck stairs, fumble with the backdoor.

"Lou," Harry says against his neck, just to have the shape and the sound of the word in his mouth. It's good, and he says it again. "Lou Lou Lou Louis-"

"Shut up," Louis whispers, "everyone'll be asleep."

Abruptly, he turns around, catches Harry's mouth in a surprisingly soft kiss, just for a second. Then he's turned away and is starting up the creaky stairs, down the hall towards Louis' guest room, away from the bloodstained bathroom.

"Louis," says Harry once more, just to himself, just to taste it, and then he follows.

Louis closes the bedroom door with a soft, muffled click. By the time he turns 'round, Harry's already fumbled off his socks and his slightly-damp jumper, laying back against the white coverlet of the bed in his pants. His heart's beating so hard he can feel it in his fingertips.

Louis stands at the door for a moment, frozen. His hair stands up in messy, salt-stiff peaks and his eyes are rimmed red.

"This is a bad idea," says Louis. "We agreed to stop doing this."

"Niall tried to kill himself," Harry says. It's the first time he's said it aloud. "Our brother tried to kill himself. I think we're entitled to a few bad decisions."

Louis keeps standing there. "Don't make it sound like we're brothers while you're begging me to fuck you."

Harry looks at him, takes a deep breath, choking on his words and the panic that is overwhelming his senses.

"I need to not think for five fucking minutes. Can you just. Please."

"It'll last more than five bloody minutes, thanks for the confidence," Louis grumbles, but he's already moving to the bed, shedding the jumper he stole from Liam and his solitary sock.

"Stop talking," Harry says, and he's hot all over as Louis throws a leg over his torso, bracing a hand against his pec. The muscles of his abdomen spasm. "Please, Lou, please, just- I need-"

Louis straddles him, sits back on the cradle of Harry's sharp hipbones. "Shh, love, tell me what you need. Tell me."

Harry needs the weight of Louis on top of him, the heavy presence of his body. He needs to scream so loud his throat gives out.

"Just. Just kiss me," he begs at last, and then Louis' eyes go soft and he tastes burnt, like cigarettes and salt, but his fingers press along Harry's jaw with firm, deliberate tenderness, and the catch in his breath is better than any song Harry's written in the past three years.

"Missed this," Harry mumbles, breathless and hot all over.

"Don't say that," Louis begs, voice breaking a little. His mouth moves down, down, down and suddenly Harry can't speak at all.

There's going to be a day when Harry Styles is not in love with Louis Tomlinson. Until then, he closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the slots of Louis' ribcage and rides out the waves of feeling.

...

"Y'okay?" Soph mumbles sleepily, sheets whispering as Liam climbs into bed.

"Yeah," says Liam. "Bit drunk."

She turns towards him as best she can, faces close together and breath mingling. Liam breathes in the smell of her hair. She wrinkles her nose.

"Y'smell like shit."

"I'll shower in the morning," Liam promises.

"Hmm," she says, turning over so her back's pressed to his front. "Spoon me."

"Y'alright?" he asks in turn, obediently moving to wrap an arm 'round the globe of her belly, burying his nose in the soft hair at her neck. "S'late."

"Back twinges a bit, but I'm good. Stop breathing on my neck, it tickles."

He licks her, a big wet swipe. The noise of disgust she makes is priceless.

"You bloody child-"

"Don't swear in front of our baby," Liam fakes scandalized. Then, "Turn a bit more, I'll rub your back."

Sophia shifts awkwardly. It's quiet then, just the steady, near-silent rasp of Liam's hand moving up and down the soft cotton of Sophia's shirt.

And then-

It's muffled, but Liam has spent too many nights on cramped buses, shared too many hotel room walls not to know the sounds Harry makes when. Well.

A soft thump. A moan. A muffled swear. A quiet whine, and then louder.

Louis is quieter, higher, barely more than a rasp. A quiet string of swear words. Harry is not so restrained, voice deep and too full, on the verge of breaking.

"Bloody hell," says Liam.

Sophia, abruptly, bursts into giggles.

"Don't laugh. This is really, really bad," Liam tells her, sitting up as a cold feeling of dread washes over him.

"S'just sex," she says, still giggling as she rolls onto her back to blink up at him. She turns her head, bites his thigh gently.

"It's never _just_ anything, with them," says Liam heavily.

A moan.

"Maybe it's good," Sophia suggests. "Like, healthy. Closure. Or maybe they'll, y'know, finally pull it together this time."

Liam snorts. "Unlikely."

"You're a grump."

"They're going to burn each other out. They always do," says Liam sadly, simply.

Harry's voice breaks on a shout, a horrible, fractured, splintered sound. And it goes quiet.

Liam listens to the quiet for another moment, neck tensed and head swiveling like a vigilant watchdog. It's quiet. He lays back down.

"Rub me back," Sophia prompts, sticking her cold feet between his calves.

He obeys.

The house goes silent, finally, and Liam thinks he might be able to hear the sea.

...

Zayn only meant to crack the door, peek his head in, and take a quick listen. Just to hear the sound of Niall's grumbly snores. Just to be sure.

He only meant to peek, only somehow he's gotten trapped in the rhythm of Niall's steady breathing. He's afraid to close the door, because if he can't hear each breath, anxiously anticipate each inhale and exhale, it might stop. It could stop, and he'd never know.

"If you're a murderer, fuck off," Niall says sleepily. Then, "If you're one o' the boys, y'can also fuck off."

Zayn sighs, opens the bedroom door all the way, then closes it behind him. The room goes dark again.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Been awake," says Niall flatly. "What with the sex."

Zayn tries for a snort. "Yeah. Can't say I missed those noises."

Niall doesn't laugh. The room falls into silence.

"I'm not goin' to hang meself in my sleep, y'know."

"I was just-"

"Smothering."

Zayn sighs, strangely close to tears. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll just-"

"Come on then," says Niall tiredly, and there's a rustling of sheets and a thump of an inviting hand patting the mattress. "Only no socks, and no cuddling."

"Deal," says Zayn, already toeing off his socks as he moves to the bed.

"G'night," Niall says unceremoniously, and turns away.

"Night," whispers Zayn.

The house is quiet. Niall breathes. Zayn lays in silence and listens for the gentle rattle of each exhale, heart racing, unable to shake the fear that the next breath won't come.

After a while, Niall holds out a hand expectantly, without lifting his face from his pillow. Zayn grips it gratefully.

Niall squeezes, just once. Zayn doesn't dare squeeze back, but he can feel a solid, steady pulse through the gauze at Niall's wrists, and eventually its unfaltering beat lulls him to sleep.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you love me you'll tell me your favorite line/lines
> 
> thx for being so nice and encouraging me to continue! more is ~forthcoming~
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](http://charactershoesfic.com/) if you wanna be friends! i wanna be friends!


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Back at Niall's house, just the six of them, shut away from the rest of the world, it was easy to slot back into their old roles, take up the easy banter and the inside jokes and the comfortable ease of it all. It was easy to shed the weight of eight years, of growing up and Zayn leaving and Harry withdrawing and Niall trying to kill himself.
> 
> Suddenly, with stranger's eyes on them, it all comes tumbling back down."
> 
> the boys go for a pub night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok tbh i write about liam becoming a dad? and then he does? only it's not with sophia? honestly wtf @ universe
> 
> another kinda short one bc im bad at finding good places to stop oh well 
> 
> ok so friendship, cuddling, dogs, irresponsible drinking, tw for some discussion of suicide and self-harm, as well as a homophobic slur (sorry)

 

Sophia wakes early to Liam breathing hot against her neck. He smells a bit like weed, a bit like damp wool, and the heavy scent is a lot for Sophia's stomach, which was delicate even before the pregnancy. She wriggles out of his arms gently.

Her back twinges rather horribly as she stands, then again while she bends to pull on knobby woolen socks over her swollen ankles. Being pregnant is a bloody nuisance, and Sophia will stand by those words, no matter how shocked and offended Harry Styles might act.

The morning goes by slowly. The boys sleep late. Sophia brews a cup of decaf tea and drinks it on the back deck, watching the dogs run around the yard and scrolling idly through a baby names website on her phone.

It's chilly, with the wind coming off the sea and the moisture of the night still thick in the air, but Sophia's got her tea and a lovely oversized lilac jumper -- possibly Harry's -- that she found on the couch inside, so she's quite comfortable.

The quiet is nice. The air smells crisp. Liam said it was lonely up here, but Sophia rather likes it. It's a house that needs people, that's all.

"Hi," says Niall, slipping out the backdoor. He's barefoot, hair wet like he's recently showered. Sophia's gotten used to the darker hair, but right now, hanging unstyled about his round, boyish face, he looks strikingly young.

"Hello, there," she teases. "Sleep alright?"

"Like a log," says Niall cheerfully. He moves to the patio table, pulls out the chair beside Sophia's, flops down with a tired little sigh. "'Cept for the part where I was trying not to hear Harry and Louis having sex, o' course. And then the next bit, where I was trying to think of a way that ends happily. Y'know."

"Liam doesn't think it can either," Sophia remembers. "You've not got a lot of faith in them."

Niall shrugs. "Love them both to death, but they're fuckin' idiots about each other. Can't go any other way. There's too much there."

"Well," Sophia says practically, "that's not your fault, is it? Nor's it your job to worry over them."

Niall shrugs. "Kinda is, though."

"Kinda isn't," she says sternly. " _You_ , sir, should be focusing on you."

 _"Oooor,"_ Niall counters, dragging out the vowel playfully, "I could focus on you. Breakfast? How's a fry-up sound, love?"

"Bloody dreadful, actually," Sophia admits ruefully. "I'm proper pregnant today. Nauseous as fuck. Tea's about all I can stomach currently."

"Tea it is," Niall agrees, and then he's plucking the empty mug from Sophia's hands and marching back into the house, barefoot and skinny. His legs are ridiculously pale, in the silly, endearing, awkward way boys' legs always are.

 "Decaf!" she calls after him.

"Obviously," he calls back.

Kanye's barking at a bird. Annie's cowering behind the smaller dog, which is a frankly ridiculous sight, considering the size difference. Sophia snorts fondly.

It's nice up here. Niall's humming inside. She goes back to the list of baby names on her phone.

...

"We're going to be adults about this," Harry says. He's naked, except for his socks, and his voice is strained as he stretches, a series of audible pops traveling up his knobby spine.

Louis sits on the bed and watches the flicker of muscle in Harry's back, the bob of his throat, the downward twist of his mouth as his back cracks again, painfully. His fingernails are already nibbled down to their quick, but he bites at them anyway.

"Adults?"

"Yes," says Harry, stepping into his briefs. His hair falls in his face. "Adults. Niall needs us right now. We don't get to create drama."

"I never create drama," Louis says around his stinging finger. He falls back in bed to stare at the ceiling.

Abruptly, Harry looms overhead, biceps bulging as he gathers his hair in a bun, a stray curl spiraling directly over Louis' face. He's frowning.

"We had sex, Louis," he informs him, "because we were upset about Niall and a little drunk and a lot nostalgic, and we have a history. We needed the comfort."

"History," Louis repeats.

Harry sits down on the bed beside him, all muscled torso and careful posture. He's got his face on, his professional, slightly-detached _Harry Styles_ face, but there's still an obstinate curl springing from his widow's peak and there's a dark purple bruise at the sweat-scented curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

"You're always going to be important to me," he says, simply, like that's it. Like that sums it all up, the tangled love-hate of it all. Important.

"Save the speech," Louis cuts in, frowning at the ceiling, teeth worrying at his cuticle 'til it starts to bleed. "I'm not a one-night stand looking for more, love. I've not got any expectations. We were sad and drunk and wanted to pretend we weren't."

It's harsh, but he needs it. Maybe they both do. The room falls silent.

"You shouldn't bite your nails," Harry says eventually. "You'll bleed."

Louis takes his bloody middle finger from his mouth long enough to flip him off. Harry stares at him.

"I love you," he says quietly. "You know that, right? Even though it's not. Like that. I love you."

Louis' stomach drops, like he's just stepped off a cliff somewhere. Harry is earnest, mostly naked, only twenty-five.

Louis sits up, presses a kiss to the star tattooed on Harry's bicep. He doesn't even have to seek it out, its position charted permanently in his memory, like its own fucking constellation.

"God, Styles, and here I thought you only loved me for my body."

"We can be adults about this," Harry repeats, seemingly a non sequitur, and then he's turning back to Louis, folding his legs up onto the bed and moving his hands like he wants to touch. "I do like your body."

Louis rolls his eyes, smiling a little at how obvious he is, but he doesn't stop the hands that land on his hips, traveling up to his jaw, a thumb brushing up against his lip like an accident.

"Want to go again before breakfast?"

It's past noon, but Louis shrugs and Harry's already shucking off his pants and they can be adults about this.

When Louis closes his eyes he thinks about the ocean waves slapping up against the cliff face, slow and relentless and impersonally cruel. Harry bites his lip, and he's stepping into thin air.

Plummeting. He braces for impact, for the terrible thing that is coming and coming and coming.

...

Zayn wanders downstairs some time after noon, blinking sleepily. He stops briefly in the kitchen, where someone -- probably Sophia -- has put out a pitcher of water, some drinking glasses, and a number of painkillers, pills arranged to form a passive-aggressive smiley face.

"Hi," Liam croaks from the couch when Zayn stumps into the room.

"Shh," says Zayn, eyes mostly closed. He stumbles over to the couch. "Budge over."

Liam obediently makes room for Zayn, then flops back down, head resting listlessly on the other boy's stomach.

"Haven't been this hungover in, like, years," Liam mumbles into Zayn's belly. "I'm an old man now. M'not equipped for this."

"Shh," says Zayn again, petting Liam's hair a bit. "My head is going to explode."

Liam's missed him, the gentleness of him, the soft curves of his accent, the way his face goes bright when he smiles.

He had made himself forget about those good parts for a while, the soft lilt of Zayn's laugh, the sharp angles of his bony hugs, because back then it was easier to be angry than to be sad. 

After Zayn left, right in the immediate aftermath when Louis started reeking of cigarettes and they were all half-afraid to ask _"what now?"_ in case someone else said they wanted out as well, Liam did a lot of overthinking, a lot of remembering.

He'd thought they were all on the same page. He wasn't mad at Zayn, at first, just sad. Guilty, for not recognizing the signs. He hadn't known Zayn was unhappy at all.

He hadn't known Niall was unhappy either.

"We should talk more," Liam says, squints up at the sharp lines of Zayn's face. "I miss you."

"Right here," Zayn mumbles, voice thick with sleep, eyes closed. "Weirdo."

"You know what I mean," says Liam.

Zayn doesn't answer, but he cranes his neck to press a scratchy, scruffy kiss to Liam's head.

"Missed you, too, babe."

"Are you happy?" Liam asks, suddenly anxious. "Are you good?"

Zayn smiles his soft smile, the one that makes it feel like someone's cracked a window and suddenly there's light and warmth filtering through.

"Really good," he says simply. "Happier now that I'm with my boys."

"Good," says Liam, satisfied. "Now budge up, let me nap in peace, you chatty fuck."

Zayn laughs. Liam feels it vibrate, his ear pressed to the center of Zayn's chest. He holds onto the truth of it.

...

The afternoon is quiet, spent in the sunny backyard. It's cool outside, but the back deck is warm from the sun. Everyone's a bit subdued, tired and hungover, but there's a comfortable feeling of calm, quiet domesticity, just six silent people coexisting. It's nice.

Niall's got his guitar out. He sits on the splintery, sun-warmed wooden planks of his back deck and strums chords while, beside him, Harry scribbles furiously in his brown leather notebook. They talk in quiet lulls, interspersed with long periods of comfortable silence.

Louis naps, stretched out in a sunny corner, sunglasses pulled over his eyes. He sleeps on his back, elbows askew, defensive even in his sleep.

Zayn draws the sharp, compact shape of him, shades in the sunlight cutting across his hollowed-out cheekbones.

He tries to draw Niall, only he can't get the smile right. He goes back to scratching in the crows feet around Louis' eyes.

Sophia's got her feet in Liam's lap, eyes shaded by designer sunglasses, scrolling on her phone, sipping idly at a glass of ice water.

"I like that bit," she remarks, tilting her head to smile at where Harry's hunched over his notebook. "That last bit."

Niall grins cheerily. His nose is starting to sunburn. He's changed his bandages, wrists once more clean and white and sterile, so very un-Niall. Zayn makes a note to find a pen later, mark up the gauze with something goofy, maybe some shamrocks and a cartoon chicken wing.

"See, Hazza, told you it's good."

"It's shit," says Harry, frowning in the severe, slightly-ridiculous manner he always adopts when he's in a strop. "It's all shit."

"Don't be bratty," Niall chides him fondly. Then, thoughtfully, "I'd kill for a fuckin' Popsicle right now."

"It's not hot out," says Liam.

Niall shrugs, bounces to his feet. "Heart wants what it wants, Payno. And mine wants a Popsicle."

He disappears into the house.

"He's happy," Liam says quietly, staring at the closed door, "right?"

"Ask me that a week ago, I'd've said yes," Louis says grimly from the corner. Zayn thought he was asleep.

"Really?" Harry says, surprised. "He's been, like. Off. For a couple months now. Tweeting weird stuff, like. You didn't notice?"

"I deleted my Twitter last year," Louis says dryly. "Proper off the grid, y'know. Glad to see my absence was noted."

Harry ignores him, frowning. "He tweeted, like-" He pauses, frown lines deepening.

 _"Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man,"_ Zayn recites dully.

The words are seared into his mind, might as well be tattooed on the back of his eyelids. Louis snorts.

"The fuck-"

"It's Shakespeare," Zayn says. "He tweeted it, that night."

Louis's throat works visibly. His voice comes out strained.

"Proper dramatic, isn't he?"

"You really didn't notice anything was wrong?" Harry presses on, frowning at Louis' prone form.

"He was calling me a bit more," Louis concedes, tone defensive, "but we didn't talk about much of anything. Nothing morbid. Just-"

"Called me, too," Liam puts in quietly. "A lot. I wish I'd been a bit better about calling back, but-"

"I knew something was wrong," says Harry hollowly. "I could tell."

Niall bursts back onto the deck, holding a box of Popsicles in triumph, mouth ringed cherry-red. "Fuckin' toldja, didn't I? Who wants one?"

Zayn and Liam raise their hands politely. Niall bounces around the table, distributing iced treats.

The ice-pop's dripped everywhere, staining his chin, his 5 Seconds of Summer tank, his crisp white bandages cherry red.

Harry stares at the red stain at Niall's wrists, big-eyed and frozen.

"Harry," Sophia interjects, voice clipped and kind and imperious, "I've got a bottle o' nail varnish in my bag upstairs. Would you be a love and run get it for me? I can't reach my toes anymore, with this belly, and Liam's hopeless at it, but I've heard you're quite good."

"Yeah, alright," Harry mumbles. He looks a bit shaken, but he gets to his feet. "In your bag?"

"The little pink makeup one," Sophia confirms.

Harry nods, teeth worrying at his lip as he ducks into the house.

Niall flops back down on the deck, oblivious, and unwraps an orange Popsicle.

Zayn bites into his own, the cold making his teeth twinge painfully.

Louis makes a quiet noise, not quite a sigh, and readjusts his sunglasses, still laying on his back with his face to the sun.

"Are you happy, Niall?" Zayn hears himself say.

Niall grins at him, teeth stained a gruesome orange. "'Course, you weirdo. Always am. What kind o' question's that?"

Sophia laughs along obligingly. Zayn shrugs, fakes a smile, looks away.

... 

Liam blinks in and out of sleep, head pillowed on Soph's shoulder. Occasionally he jabs a finger sleepily at her phone screen, liking random Instagram posts, just to be annoying.

Louis sleeps. Niall strums. Zayn draws. Time passes in spurts, long stretches of quiet and brief moments of consciousness.

A series of moments:

Harry paints Sophia's toenails, face screwed up in concentration, a single curl falling in his face.

Niall plays the chords to "Through the Dark" and Zayn quietly sings the chorus. Through Liam's half-lidded eyes, he can see graphite smudged across his cheekbone.

Annie gallops up the stairs, nails clicking on the wooden deck, and flops down on Louis' stomach. He emits a breathless yelp that has Niall and Zayn laughing for a solid minute.

"I'll paint yours now, if you'd like," Sophia offers as Harry finally sits back, grinning cheerfully and screwing the cap back on the bottle of nail polish.

He looks up at her like she's crazy. "Pregnant women should not be breathing in these fumes, Sophia Smith."

She laughs. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry Styles, I forgot you were the resident pregnancy expert up here."

"I forgive you," he says mildly, just a hint of a dimple. "Besides. I'm a grown man, I can paint my own nails."

Sophia laughs. Liam closes his eyes again, drifts to sleep as Niall plays soft, melancholy chords.

The next time he opens his eyes, Sophia's asleep, too. Her head rests heavy on his, hair tickling his neck.

Harry sits at the table, quiet, while Louis, face downturned, paints his nails a soft turquoise.

"You've got weird-shaped hands," Louis remarks lightly. "Your knuckles are, like, disproportionately giant."

"I've been told they're elegant. Aristocratic knuckles. I could be a hand model."

Louis rolls his eyes. Harry dimples.

Liam closes his eyes again.

...

"There's a good little pub in town," Niall suggests, regarding the contents of his refrigerator without much interest. "I could go for a couple o' pints and a burger."

"We've not got any security," Harry objects.

Niall shrugs. "Everyone 'round here's used to me by now. Don't give me any trouble."

"That was before-" Liam hesitates. "Before the tabloids."

Niall shrugs again, jaw set stubbornly. "I want a burger."

Liam looks at Louis. Louis shrugs. Liam sighs.

"Yeah, alright," he relents. "Only I'm driving."

"Get in!" Niall cheers, pulling Zayn into a headlock. Zayn bears this indignity with long-suffering patience. "First round's on me, lads!"

"Think I'll sit this one out," Sophia decides. "Me and Kanye will have a spa night, catch up with the Kardashians."

"Glad to hear that show's still on television," Zayn says sarcastically.

"What, don't you get cable out in the fookin' woods where you're dwellin' these days?"

"It's not even that long of a beard, Lou."

"Y'could braid that shit, bro," Louis scoffs.

"Fuck off, could not."

Harry perks up. "Challenge accepted."

"Right," says Liam, "I'm leaving. If you're not in the car, you're not coming."

"Such a fuckin' dad," Louis sighs, eyes crinkling fondly. He starts towards the front door, yelling over his shoulder, "Shotgun!"

"Shotgun's mine," Niall disagrees, following. "I'm in a fragile state, I deserve these privileges." 

"I don't find that funny," Louis informs him.

Liam pauses to kiss Sophia goodbye, stooping to press a kiss to her belly as she rolls her eyes fondly.

"Be good," she says. "Be careful."

"I'm not drinking," he says, eyeing Harry and Zayn as they exit the kitchen, bumping shoulders companionably. "Believe me."

"Such a fookin' dad," Sophia echoes Louis' words in a dodgy attempt at a Yorkshire accent, but she's smiling at him in the best kind of way.

"There're worse things," Liam shrugs, grinning, and kisses her again 'til someone -- Louis, probably -- leans on the horn outside. Kanye and Annie start barking, alarmed.

"Jesus," he grumbles, but he's laughing, and Sophia pinches his bum as he turns away.

...

Somehow, Harry's ended up with shotgun, despite Louis and Niall's quarrel, and he takes silent glee in blaring the worst radio station he can find.

"It sounds like someone's gargling into a microphone," Liam says with wonder, "and then they set it to banjo."

"I like the background noise of raccoons mating," Louis puts in, thumbing his chin pretentiously. "Really adds something."

"This is what real music sounds like," Harry says, a single dimple cracking his otherwise impressive deadpan. "Everything else is just noise."

Niall, attempting to sing along, makes a noise from the backseat that most closely resembles a cat yowling, then breaks into giggles.

"Beautiful," says Harry, closing his eyes. "So authentic."

"Jesus," Zayn laughs, covering his ears.

"Surprised you didn't run into these guys while you were wandering in the woods, Zayn," says Harry innocently.

"Must've been a very big woods," says Louis.

"I don't sing folk," Zayn tells them, but he's laughing. "You're just jealous of m'beard."

Harry pets his own (very bare) face mournfully. He doesn't deny this claim.

"I can grow a beard," Louis objects. "I've got no reason to be jealous."

"Yeah," Zayn concedes, "but you're just a fuckin' dick."

Louis shrugs like this is a fair point.

"I'd like to make a sex playlist," says Harry thoughtfully, "of just, like. Acoustic banjo covers. That'd be sick."

Liam can't tell if he's joking anymore. Which is worrisome.

"Harry, I have a question for you," says Niall seriously. He pauses, inhales deeply. "Are we out of the woods yet?"

Liam laughs.

"Heyyy," Harry complains.

"Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?"

"I still feel she capitalized on my very real tragedy," says Harry, frowning as he fingers the scar beneath his chin. "And I didn't cry."

Liam takes advantage of their distraction to switch the radio station. When he looks back in the rearview mirror, Niall grins at him.

Liam smiles back, turns the music up.

...

The pub was a bad idea. Liam knows it the second they walk in the door, just from the way Louis' shoulders tense up.

It's relatively quiet, just a few clumps of gruff older men at the bar, a young family sitting at a table in the corner, but suddenly there's a tension in the air.

Back at Niall's house, just the six of them, shut away from the rest of the world, it was easy to slot back into their old roles, take up the easy banter and the inside jokes and the comfortable ease of it all. It was easy to shed the weight of eight years, of growing up and Zayn leaving and Harry withdrawing and Niall trying to kill himself.

Suddenly, with stranger's eyes on them, it all comes tumbling back down.

It's small, nearly imperceptible, but Harry stands taller and Zayn's face goes slack, carefully neutral, and Louis is sharper, somehow. It all happens in a matter of seconds, right before Liam's eyes, and suddenly he remembers that he is twenty-six and that these boys are not his whole word anymore. He stands taller, too, hides the crushing sadness with a genial showman's smile.

Niall doesn't seem to notice, waving cheerily to the girl behind the counter and leading the way to a big booth at the back corner of the pub, shouting a hello to one of the gruff men at the bar.

"I don't like this," says Zayn quietly, hanging back to brush shoulders with Liam.

"It's just a bunch of old men," he says unconvincingly. "They don't give a fuck about some washed-up boyband from a couple years ago."

Zayn looks unconvinced, but he slides into the booth after Liam, nods along when Niall starts talking enthusiastically about wings for the table.

Niall's pulled on a worn blue flannel over his 5SOS tank, the sleeves pulled down carefully to hide the bandages at his wrists, and Liam feels sick.

Someone snaps a picture, the shutter-sound audible even over the noise of the pub. Harry flinches.

"Right," says Louis, loud and laddy and abrupt. He jumps to his feet. "First round's on me, boys. If the waitress comes while I'm gone, get me a thing o' chips."

"I'm not drinking," Liam calls after him, though Louis gives no sign that he's heard.

"Lost a kidney again?" Harry asks, only the good-natured ribbing's lost its easy rhythm. He might as well be reading from a script.

Still, Liam appreciates that he's trying. He smiles back, tries to keep his own tone light and familiar.

"Someone's got to keep you lot from making a scene."

"I never make a scene," Harry scoffs. Zayn prods lightly at a purpled love-bite on his neck, snorting pointedly.

"Dunno how that got there," says Harry innocently.

A young waitress interrupts this unconvincing exchange, looking a bit starstruck. She's pretty, in a freckly sort of way, and very young, probably a niece of the pub's owner or something. She blushes when Niall waves to her.

"Ellie!" he says cheerfully. "How've you been?

"Good," she says, looking terrified. Her accent's even thicker than Niall's and she seems too frightened to raise her voice above a whisper, so Liam hears very little of the specials menu she rattles off.

"I'll have a burger and chips," Niall announces immediately. "And a basket o' wings for the table."

The others boy rattle off similar orders. Ellie nods and scribbles frantically and never once makes eye contact.

"And Lou'll have a thing of chips," Zayn remembers.

"And a burger," Harry adds abruptly. He shrugs when the other boys look at him. "He eats shit all the time. S'too skinny."

It's not untrue. Liam shrugs.

"I'll be right back with the wings," the waitress whispers, freckly face still buried in her notepad.

"Thanks, babe," says Liam, trying for soothing. The endearment only seems to make things worse. She makes a noise of strangled panic as she turns away, nearly crashing into Louis, who's balancing five beers rather precariously. 

"Sorry, love," he says, amused, but she's already scurried away. He slides into the booth, distributing drinks haphazardly.

"I'm not drinking," Liam says again as Louis plunks a pint down before him. A bit of foam spills over the edge and onto the tabletop. "I'm driving."

"I'll drink his," says Zayn quietly. He looks a little nervy, on edge, as he takes a big gulp of beer.

"Y'alright?" says Liam quietly.

"Yeah," says Zayn, swallowing. "Great."

"Zayn, bro," says Niall cheerfully. He either doesn't sense the tension in the room or is choosing to serenely ignore it. "Tell me about your life. Still dating that model?"

"Oh," says Zayn, once he's swallowed another gulp of beer, "uh, yeah, I s'pose?"

"Enthusiastic," Louis notes dryly.

"She's pretty," Niall says. Zayn shrugs again. He looks uncomfortable.

"S'pose."

"And the album? How's the second one coming along?"

"Good," says Zayn. He takes another gulp of beer, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Like. Yeah, good."

He looks a little happier now, features lighter.

"Been in and out of the studio a lot lately," he continues. "Just fooling around, mostly. Feels good, though. M'happy with how it sounds so far."

"Wish I could say the same," Harry grumbles, then immediately looks as though he regrets his words.

"Hard times, Harold?" Louis inquires lightly.

Harry shrugs, musters a lopsided dimple. "Niall thinks I need to smoke more weed. Change my headspace."

"Y'should come stay with me in the woods," Zayn offers. "Very existential."

Louis bursts into delighted laughter. Zayn looks sheepishly proud.

Ellie returns, blushing, with the basket of wings. Niall grins at her cheerfully as she approaches.

"How's your da?" He asks her jovially. "I keep meanin' to pop in, see the new truck he's always goin' on about-"

"He's good," Ellie whispers. She keeps glancing at Harry under downcast lashes, furtive little peeks.

Niall nods, smile dimming.

"Dunno what's gotten into her," he remarks once the young waitress has hurried away. "Usually doesn't act so-"

"Starstruck?" says Louis dryly.

Niall frowns and doesn't answer.

"Let's have these wings, then," Liam cuts in cheerily. "See if they're as good as you've been going on about, mate."

Niall is offended at the very suggestion, and immediately starts passing around plates and making enthusiastic proclamations about these wings being "the Craic."

A few tables down, the mother of the young family takes a not-so subtle photo. She doesn't even bother to turn her flash off.

Harry drops his eyes to the tabletop instinctively. Louis ducks his head, puts a hand up to fiddle with his hair, shielding his face from view.

Silently, Zayn slides a beer across the table to Liam. Another flash. Liam thinks fuck it and takes a big, foamy gulp.

...

Two hours later and they're all a bit tipsy. Harry excuses himself for the bathroom, mumbling about needing a wee. Louis sits still for approximately thirty seconds more, jittery hands resting on his knees, then he's following.

Once he's gone, Zayn snorts. "Subtle as ever."

"Poor fucks," says Niall, a bit sadly.

"Poor us," Liam disagrees. "We're the ones who've got to listen to it all night."

All three boys groan at the prospect of another sleepless night.

"I'm getting another drink," says Zayn decisively, sliding out of the booth.

"Get me chips," Niall calls after him. Zayn flips him off. Liam and Niall both laugh, then fall into a comfortable silence, watching Zayn as he waits at the bar.

"I missed him," says Niall, like it's a new-found revelation.

"So did I," Liam admits.

"It's nice having him here." He grins. "Having all you lads, for that matter."

"S'nice being here," Liam answers, but a new fear finds a grip in his gut. "Hey, Niall?"

"Hmm?"

"What happens when we leave? When we go back home? Have you-- Will you be alright?"

Niall's newly dark hair accentuates the big, rounded blue of his eyes. They look back at Liam in something akin to shock.

Before Niall can answer, Harry's sliding back into the booth, red-cheeked. The baby hairs at his temple stick to his forehead wetly, like he's just splashed his face with water.

"Hello, my Morning Glories," he says, suspiciously cheery.

Liam glances towards the bathroom, and sure enough, Louis' just ducked out, fixing his fringe as he slinks up to where Zayn's leaning against the bar.

"Alright there, love?" Niall asks cheerfully.

"'Course," says Harry, smiling. "I'm having fun. S'always nice to get out of the house for a bit."

Sometimes Liam doesn't understand Harry at all, his practiced aloofness and his goofy sincerity and the things he thinks about when he ducks his head to shake out his hair.

He's struck with it, suddenly, looking at Harry with his strong jawline and blue-painted fingernails and his eyes drifting around the bar, slightly detached, how simultaneously vulnerable and untouchable he is.

"Harry," he says, and Harry turns to look at him, dimpling instinctively.

"Yes, Liam?"

"Come cuddle with me," Liam says finally, because he hasn't got any other words.

Harry obliges unquestioningly, banging his knee against the tabletop in his haste, licking Liam's collarbone before settling his curly head on his shoulder.

"Hello," he says, once he's settled in properly. He gives Liam a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"Hello, sunshine," Liam says back, smiling.

"Well now I'm feeling left out," Niall complains.

"Why aren't you spooning me already, Niall?" Harry demands impatiently. "Take some initiative."

Louis and Zayn appear with another round and the chips Niall requested. Zayn smiles with bemusement at the cuddle-pile. Louis, unphased, pinches Niall's bum and slides into the booth.

"Bartender's a bit of a dick," he says, handing around beers. "Gave me a weird look when I asked 'im to put footy on, didn't he, Zayn?"

"Didn't notice," Zayn says diplomatically, "but he might've."

Niall waves this away, sitting up to devote his full attention to the basket of chips before him. "That's just Randy. Gruff kind o' guy, but he's alright."

"Probably he just doesn't support Donny," Harry says dryly. Louis looks at him and they smile at each other. It's weird.

"Well that makes me like him even less," says Louis haughtily, finally looking away. He steals some of Niall's chips.

"You don't need the game," Niall objects, batting away Louis' thieving hands. "You've got all the entertainment y'need right here. Boys, show 'im."

Liam and Harry obligingly pull funny faces. Niall balances a spoon on his nose. It falls to the tabletop with a clang that has Randy glaring their way.

Louis laughs and takes the opportunity to snatch a couple more chips.

"It's nothing personal, lads, just business," he says, eyes crinkling, "I've got an investment to look after, y'know."

 _"Ooh, look at me, I'm Loueh and I own a football team,"_ Zayn croons in an over-exaggerated accent.

"Partially own," says Louis, but he's grinning. "At least I've not got a clothing line."

"Hey, Liam," says Harry. "I thought you weren't meant to be drinking."

Liam puts down his beer guiltily. "Sorry, lads."

Niall shrugs this off. "We'll walk, it's not far."

"Might as well get proper blasted, then," Louis puts in, reaching for his beer. "Make a drunken escapade of it."

"Escapade," says Harry thoughtfully. "S'a good word."

"Fuckin' weirdo," Louis laughs, but it's fond. Harry flips him off with dignity.

Weird.

...

Liam remembers being shocked, initially, at how easily they all fell together.

The first night in the bungalow, they dragged all the mattresses downstairs and arranged them in a sort of star, with all their heads in the center. They talked for most of the night, an easy effortless banter, and sang a bit and breathed each other's air and Harry announced rather abruptly that he could only sleep naked - "sorry, lads" - and in the morning he walked around in just his briefs, pouring cereal and laughing too loud whenever Louis cracked a joke.

Liam remembers feeling bewildered and stiff, a little uncomfortable and a little bit wistful. It had never come naturally to him, the easy way the boys seemed to fall into friendship.

At bootcamp, Liam had watched in awe as his crooked-toothed, bleached-blonde roommate cheerfully and effortlessly made friends with every person he encountered. Louis had jumped into Harry's arms at the X-Factor, a perfect stranger, when they'd been told they got through.

Even now, years later, they've fallen back together so easily, slotting into place.

Zayn's pulled Niall halfway into his lap, sharp chin propped on the other boy's shoulder, eyes downturned, mouth set in concentration as he draws on Niall's bandages.

"Promise you'll tell me if I'm hurting you?"

"Stitches are on the underside of m'arm," Niall says impatiently. "You're fine."

Louis hands Zayn crayons as he calls for them, like a nurse handing a surgeon his scalpel. Occasionally he puts a soggy chip into Zayn's hand instead of a crayon, giggling like he's eighteen, not twenty-seven.

"You're a child," Zayn says, but he's smiling as he pops the chip into his mouth.

"You're the one drawing with crayons," Louis counters loftily.

"Someone get me a beer," Niall decrees. "Only you'll have to help me drink it, 'cause Zayn's got my hands."

Harry straightens, curls tickling Liam's neck, and reaches across the table to hold a beer to Niall's lips obligingly.

"Here comes the airplane," he sing-songs, then cackles as he tilts the bottle too much and beer slops down Niall's front.

"Jesus, Styles," he sputters, even as he grins.

"Oops," says Harry innocently, snuggling up to Liam once more. He smells like expensive cologne and cheap beer.

Liam thinks of sad, stiff, seventeen-year-old Liam with his painstakingly-straightened hair, of all the things he will encounter and of the boys he will come to love. He laughs a little bit.

Harry lifts his head from Liam's shoulder inquiringly. Liam shakes his head, still smiling. 

...

Niall wants to do shots.

Louis isn't really sure if that's a good idea, but he's not really sure of anything these days, to be fair. He looks at Liam and Liam shrugs and stands, so Louis does, too.

They drift to the bar in companionable silence, elbows knocking as they lean against the polished wood. Randy's down at the other end, laughing with a group of middle-aged men, so they settle in for a wait.

"D'you think it's a good idea, Niall getting pissed?" Louis asks.

Liam shrugs again. Louis doesn't like when Liam doesn't have the answers.

"We were all pissed last night," Liam points out reasonably.

"Yeah," says Louis, frustrated by this reasonableness, "but last night was just us. Now we're all-- exposed."

The older men at the end of the bar laugh raucously. Louis' shoulders tense. He leans further into Liam.

"I liked it better when we stayed inside," he mumbles, smiling so it sounds like a joke instead of an admission of fear.

Liam puts his arm 'round Louis and gives him a good squeeze, solid and dependable and good.

"Let's get some shots in you," he says cheerily, "and then you'll feel more like the Terrible Tommo we know and love."

Randy comes over finally, gives them a bit of an odd look. Louis finds himself shaking off Liam's arm, standing a bit taller, slipping into his laddy bravado like a well-worn jacket.

Liam orders the shots. Louis downs his the moment it's set before him, orders another in his loudest, laddy-est voice. Liam watches him with mingled concern and amusement, like he's not sure whether to chide Louis or join in on the mischief.

"Careful, Tommo," he settles for, and leads the way back to the table.

"Shots! Shots! Shots!" Niall sings cheerily, fist-bumping like the harmless douche that he is.

Zayn giggles, a soft and terrible sound, and imitates Niall's dance moves like the gentle dork that he is. Louis looks away, makes the mistake of catching green eyes across the table.

Harry looks at Louis over the edge of his shot glass, grins, knocks it back and slams the glass down with an exaggerated _ahhhhh_ and a lot of unnecessary lip-licking.

Earlier, he'd let Louis pin him up against the bathroom sink, just long enough to suck the salt off his lips, warm his hands against Harry's broad back.

Harry'd been leaning against the sink when Louis walked in, like he was waiting.

Louis gulps. A big foot encased in a ridiculous boot taps against his ankle, once, twice.

Harry grins at him like he's telling a secret, like they're best, best friends.

Louis takes the shot, slams the glass down, grins as Niall whoops appreciatively, but he can't quite tear his eyes away from Harry, red-lipped and dimpled and staring right back.

...

The pub fills up as the night goes on, with a suspicious influx of young women dressed in clothes more suitable for a club than for Randy's small, old-fashioned pub. They congregate at the bar in small, brightly-colored groups, giggling and casting long-lashed glances their way and ordering frivolous little cocktails that seem to offend Randy's grumpy, middle-aged masculinity.

It's not a mob-scene, not yet, which makes Zayn thinks it's mostly word of mouth that's brought these girls here.

Still, he shifts nervously in his seat, lets his knee press more firmly against Liam's, leans forward so he's mostly blocking Niall from their view.

He should be used to the crowds. Zayn knows, abstractly, that he should be used to all of this by now. But he's also gotten used to being alone, only having to look out for himself. He'd nearly forgotten how it felt to be in orbit, to be so constantly aware of these four boys circling around him.

There's no security here, if things get crazy, and Zayn can't help but feel like Niall needs protecting, no matter how much he laughs and drinks and chatters.

Another crowd of young people sweep in, a wave of loud voices and perfume in their wake. Zayn swallows.

No one has approached yet, but there are people openly staring. It's only a matter of time.

"Maybe we should start heading out soon, yeah?" he suggests, only it comes out too quiet amid the crowd.

Niall hears, of course, because Niall always hears. But Niall is red-faced, in the first happy stages of drunkenness, and Zayn thinks Niall's been drinking like he's got something to prove.

"Leave?" he says, voice just sharp of jovial. "But we're all having so much fun!!!"

Zayn looks around. Harry and Liam are a laughing, drunken jumble of limbs, Harry perched on Liam's lap as Liam attempts to braid his lengthy curls.

("You've got to practice before the baby comes," Harry is telling him very seriously, when he can stop giggling long enough to speak. "What if it's a girl? You need as much practice as you can get."

"What if it's a boy?" Liam counters, also laughing. "Then this has all been a terrible waste."

Harry scoffs. "Don't pretend you don't know this is all an excuse for me to sit in your lap, Liam. We both know you're smarter than that.")

Louis looks slightly less drunk. Zayn can see it in the hyper-aware tension of his shoulders, the drum of his fingers against the table top.

"What's the matter?" Harry inquires belatedly, turning to frown at Niall in concern. The movement pulls his braid free from Liam's hands and it begins to unravel. "Who's leaving?"

"No one," says Niall, grinning so hard it's surely got to hurt. "No one's leaving."

"Just need a smoke," Zayn says after a few tense seconds. "I'll be back in a mo'."

Louis stands abruptly. "Need company?"

Zayn stares at him for a second, surprised, but quickly pulls himself together. Pretends that this is nothing out of the ordinary, like Zayn didn't leave and Louis didn't hate him for it.

"Yeah, sure, bro."

"Sick," says Louis, and starts off without another word.

It's crowded now. Louis walks with his elbows out defensively, shouldering through the people without a backwards glance. Zayn trails in his wake, trying not to get left behind.

In a moment of fear -- _God_ , Zayn hates crowds -- he pinches the back of Louis' vest between his fingers, something to hold on to, like he used to hold onto his mum's purse at the shops, when he was little.

If Louis feels it, he doesn't comment, just leads Zayn out the back door and into a cool, dark little alleyway. Zayn takes care to make sure the door shuts silently behind them. When he turns 'round, Louis' already got a pink BIC lighter out, cigarette pursed between his lips.

Zayn lights his own, leans back against the grimy brick and takes a raspy breath.

"S'crowded," he says, for something to say.

It never used to be like this, talking for the sake of talking. That was never how they'd worked. 

When Zayn thinks of Louis, he thinks of Bus 1, smoking in the back 'til the windows fogged up, limbs tangled comfortably, Louis talking shit with his eyes half-lidded and Zayn laughing. Sometimes they didn't talk at all, just smoked or played FIFA or co-existed in comfortable silence.

The silence was never something that needed to be filled before. Then again, the space between them was never this cavernous.

"I don't like this," says Louis after an agonizingly long stretch of silence where Zayn thinks he isn't going to answer. "Too many people. Niall might think he's old news, but that was before the- fucking suicide attempt. And you and Harry are still _celebrities_. This was a bad fucking idea."

Zayn tries not to wince at the way Louis spits the word _celebrity_. He shrugs.

"At least Niall's having fun."

Louis frowns, staring down at his cigarette without taking a drag.

"Is he? Feels a bit like he's trying too hard. Trying to convince us. Or his bloody self."

Zayn shrugs again, feeling tired and a little drunk and weighed down. He hums noncommittally.

"Liam wants to believe him," says Louis bitterly, "so he's playing along. And who fucking knows with Harry."

"Harry's smart," Zayn objects.

"I know that," Louis snaps. "Why does everyone think I don't bloody know that?"

Zayn falls silent.

"I know he's smart," Louis grumbles. "Doesn't mean he wants to face what's going on. Not when it's Niall."

It's quiet again. Zayn can hear a quiet buzzing from the bare lightbulb overhead.

"Can you fucking _say something?"_

Zayn blinks, shocked.

"What do you want me to say?"

Louis doesn't answer right away.

Zayn stubs out his cigarette against the brick and breathes out, long and heavy.

"We're all trying here, bro. It's a shit situation, all around."

"I know that."

Zayn squints at him in the dim light of the alley, the petulant hunch of his shoulders and the restless twitch of fingers at the base of his cigarette.

It goes quiet.

"I can't stand all this not-talking," Louis bursts out. "All this dancing 'round the bloody subject and whispering while Niall's back's turned. All this fucking quiet."

Zayn digs his lighter back out, something to hold on to. He flicks it on, then off again, feeling the momentary heat on his face.

_"Fucking SAY something-"_

"Thought I didn't get a say," Zayn counters coolly, "since I wasn't there, and all."

Louis stills, then goes back to his cigarette sulkily.

"You weren't, to be fair-"

"I wanted to be," Zayn finds himself arguing back. Another moment of heat. "I wanted to be there-"

"You left-"

"I called."

"Fuck that."

"You could've picked up the phone."

"You weren't _there_ , Zayn-"

"Neither were you," Zayn cuts in, heated. "Neither was Harry, neither was Liam. And d'you know what? It wouldn't have mattered if we were-"

"Like bloody hell it wouldn't-"

"Niall's depressed," Zayn interrupts, and it's louder now, like he wants to be heard. "That's chemical, Louis. That's not something you can fix with cuddles or a joint or a good prank on Paul."

"He shouldn't have felt like he was alone," Louis says, voice thick with- something. "He could have told someone he was feeling down, he could've-"

Louis stands there, hands clenched at his sides. It's too dark to make out his face. His stance is wide, defiant, but his shoulders are slumped in defeat. Zayn's bulked up in the past couple years, finally started taking the gym seriously, and he's suddenly aware of their size difference. Louis is decidedly thinner, if not shorter. He looks abruptly, shockingly small.

"Not everything's your fault all the time, you know," Zayn tells him quietly. "You can't take all the punches, all the time."

Louis makes a sound that might be a sniffle, but probably isn't. His fists clench and unclench.

"You're confusing me with Liam," he says finally.

"If I hug you, are you going to punch me?" Zayn asks.

"No," says Louis, and this time there's definitely a sniffle. He plays it off with a snuffly laugh, burying his sharp chin in Zayn's neck. "I dunno why everyone thinks I'm so mean all the time. I like hugs."

"You're a little bit mean," Zayn tells him, holding on tight.

"Your beard is scratchy," says Louis.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

...

It seems the crowd has only grown inside the pub. Louis is confronted with a wall of heat and noise the moment he steps back inside.

"Jesus," he says, wincing.

"We need to leave," Zayn says.

He grabs ahold of the hem of Louis' tank, bunching it in his hand, and Louis leads him through the crowd, elbows out so he can jab when needed. Zayn may have a greater body mass than Louis these days, but Louis is infinitely better at being rude and aggressive.

"Excuse me," someone says, "are you Zayn-- Can I--"

"He gets that a lot," says Louis loudly, keeps pushing. "Fuck off, please."

Zayn swears quietly in Louis' ear as they approach the boys' booth. Louis mentally echoes the sentiment, taking in Niall's flushed face and glassy eyes, Liam's anxious eyebrows, the strange girls who've descended on the table.

There's one sitting on Niall's lap, another with her hand in Harry's hair.

"Hello," says Louis loudly, climbing into the booth. If he jostles the girl with her hands on Harry at all, it's completely unintentional. "Who's this?"

The girl on Niall's lap introduces herself, but Louis ignores her.

Harry looks a little drunk and a lot uncomfortable. Still, eternally polite, he says, "This is Hannah. She's a fan."

"I'm a fan," Hannah tells Louis.

"Boys," says Liam, pitching his voice to be heard over the madness. "I think we should-"

"What've you got on your arms?" the girl in Niall's lap asks abruptly. She makes a grab for one of his hands.

"Bandages," says Zayn quickly. "He's just gotten some tats done."

"We need to go," says Liam, trying again, louder. "Niall is very, very-"

"Don't be stupid," interrupts Hannah, finally taking her hands out of Harry's hair to frown at Zayn. "Niall hates tattoos. He said he'd never get them. I know, I'm a _fan_ -"

"Right," says Louis, "that's enough. Budge over, love, we've got to go--"

Harry shoots out a desperate hand, seizing Louis' wrist like he's afraid he'll be left behind.

"S'cuse me," he says to Hannah politely, albeit anxiously. "If you'd just slide out, I've got to--"

"Hang on," says Hannah. She gets to her knees in the booth, narrowing heavily-lined eyes at Niall, who's slumped worryingly against Liam. "Hang on, it's _true_ , isn't it-- what the tabs are saying, about you trying to off yourself--"

"Hey," Harry cuts in abruptly, and when Louis turns he's guiding Hannah out of the booth, a courteous hand at the small of her back, a million dollar smile fixed on his face. "How 'bout we do that picture now, love? And do you have a Twitter or something I could follow?"

"Oh," says the girl, distracted, and then she's turning back towards Harry -- _Harry Styles, perfect celebrity_ \-- and Louis and Liam each take an arm, get Niall to his feet.

"Let's get to the bar," Zayn says. "He needs to drink some water before he passes out."

Niall mumbles something incoherent, eyes mostly shut. His head lolls and a flushed, red cheek comes to rest momentarily against Louis' own. It's hot, damp to the touch.

"C'mon, Nialler, you're alright," Liam says soothingly. "Let's just get to the bar. Y'can have some water and Randy can call us a car--"

Louis glances back, catches Harry's eye as he poses dutifully, lips pressed to Hannah's cheek as her friend takes enthusiastic pictures.

He nods his head towards the bar, so he'll know where they've gone. Harry nods back, lifts his hand in a thumb's up, a momentary look of worry cracking his perfect Harry Styles veneer. Then he's turning back to the girls, charmingly vacant smile back in place, and Louis and Liam ease Niall through the crowd, Zayn mumbling apologies as he leads the way.

Another group of people approach as they reach the bar. Zayn and Liam step forward, smiles bright and fake, to fend them off with pictures and the promise of a Twitter follow. Louis takes advantage of the distraction, easing Niall into a stool and gesturing urgently for the barkeep.

Niall mumbles something else, lashes fluttering, then says with some coherency, "Lou?"

"Here, babe," Louis answers, absentmindedly rubbing the boy's back with the hand that isn't waving frantically at Randy. "You're alright, Nialler. Just need to get some water in you, yeah?"

"Yeah," Niall echoes mindlessly.

Randy takes his sweet fucking time obeying Louis' summons, finally ambling over with a begrudging sigh, like he's being greatly inconvenienced.

"S'the matter with 'im?" he asks, nodding to Niall gruffly.

Louis would think it's fairly fucking obvious but he's trying to be diplomatic, so he grits his teeth and explains.

"Drank too much. Can we get a water and a taxi? And if you've got a back room, somewhere we can take him while we wait-"

"You've not paid your tab," the bartender interrupts rudely.

Louis blinks. Bites his tongue. Takes a hand off Niall long enough to yank out his wallet, slap a credit card down.

"That should cover it," he grits out. "Water, please. And a taxi."

Randy grunts, takes the credit card and turns away. Louis turns his attention back to Niall.

There's a girl a few stools down with her phone out, directed rather blatantly towards the boys.

Louis leans forward, angling his body to block the shot, even as he realizes it's fruitless. Everyone in this pub has a cellphone and tomorrow without a doubt the tabloids will be plastered with pictures of _One Direction's Drunken Reunion! Niall Horan's First Night Out Since His Alleged Hospitalization! See The Shocking Photos That Have Friends and Family Worried!_

There are hands on Louis' waist, suddenly, and he's already whirling, elbow poised to jab, when he realizes it's only Harry.

"Sorry it took so long," says Harry. He looks like their Harry again, bad posture and anxious eyes. "They made me take so many pictures. But they promised they'd keep the story off social media. They pinky swore."

Harry's drunk, too. It's obvious in his blown pupils and in the fact that he's still touching Louis, holding onto his waist like he's afraid this current of people will tug him away.

"Y'alright Niall?"

Niall moans in answer.

Randy returns then with Louis' credit card and an unopened water bottle. He slaps them both down with an ungracious grunt.

"Too many fucking people in my pub," he says. "All for some queer boyband. I want you gone."

Louis feels Harry go stiff, pressed against his back. He reaches back, squeezes the younger man's hip for just a second, then musters every ounce of resolve in his body and smiles at Randy.

"Thank you," he says. "And the taxi?"

Randy doesn't answer because he's staring down at the countertop, where Harry's just reached around Louis to grab Niall's water.

More precisely, he's staring at Harry's hands gripping the bottle, at Harry's fingernails, at Harry's pale blue-polished fingernails that Louis painted this afternoon.

He looks up, face cold. Louis' stomach drops.

"We don't serve bloody fags."

Harry flinches. Niall groans, leans over, and is sick all over the floor.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi so thank you thank you for being so nice to me in the reviews!! youre all beautiful people! 
> 
> so full disclosure i have probs two more chaps that are ready to post, and then ive got to get my ass in gear and finish this thing... so like... plz send me encouragement 
> 
> also if you leave me a comment (especially if you tell me ur fave part) i'll probably smile like a goon and think it about it for the rest of the week, at least, so :)


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're all so sad," says Liam quietly. "We're all sad and tired and old, and we're trying to pretend nothing's changed. Trying to relive the glory days."
> 
> the morning after the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hi here's some more angsty content about boys caring too much and not knowing what to do with their emotions 
> 
> warning for mentions of vomiting, some pretty frank but non-explicit discussion of self-harm, and a lot of Boys Handling Things Badly

They have to walk, after that.

It's dark and chilly and mostly uphill. Harry holds Louis' unbloodied left hand. Zayn and Liam hold Niall.

"You'd think we'd outgrow this kind of shit," Louis says tiredly.

No one answers. Niall groans again. Liam and Zayn stop in their tracks, wait patiently as Niall vomits.

Harry hands over the water bottle, which he'd seized from the bar in the panic that ensued Louis punching the bartender. Liam opens it, holds it to Niall's mouth until he's drank a sufficient amount.

"Poor Nialler," says Zayn.

"What were we thinking?" Liam wonders aloud. He loops Niall's arm back 'round his neck, and they resume their slow uphill trudge. "We should've known better than to-- He's still fragile. We--"

"Not fragile," Niall mumbles, mouth pressed to Zayn's shoulder.

"Shh," Zayn tells him.

"We're supposed to be taking care of him," Liam continues, sounding more and more distraught. "God, we're supposed to be-- part of his healing process, not-- not pouring drinks down his throat at some backwards, small town, homophobic-"

"Preach," says Harry without much energy.

"What kind of friends are we?" Liam sounds slightly hysterical now. "We left him alone all by himself up here 'til he-- 'til he-- and now we can't even have a lad's night out, a fucking pub night, without-- without--"

"Liam," says Zayn.

The trio halts again. Liam ducks out from beneath Niall's arm, throws up along the side of the road. He stands there, doubled over, eyes stinging, breathing hard, for a long minute.

"We can't help him," he realizes finally. "We can't help him." "Li," says Zayn soothingly, "babes." "We can't help him," Liam repeats, louder. "We can't even help ourselves, can we? Two days together and we're already falling back into the same patterns. Like we're eighteen."

"Liam," says Louis reasonably, "you're drunk and sad and tired. Let's just-"

"You're sleeping with Harry again," Liam interrupts. "You go three years without speaking, and then two days together and you're fucking. That's not healthy! That's not how life works!"

"Shut up," says Harry. "You don't know what's-"

"Sometimes I don't even know who you are," Liam tells Harry. "You're so cold and detached sometimes. You only care when it's convenient. When we're exciting enough to catch your attention."

"Liam-"

"Zayn's been gone for years. Even before he left. Even-"

"Liam, _mate_ ," Louis cuts in icily. "As fun as this truth session has been, it's fucking cold out. Niall needs to get home."

After a second, Liam turns back to Niall obediently, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. They start off again at a slow shuffle.

"We're all so sad," says Liam quietly. "We're all sad and tired and old, and we're trying to pretend nothing's changed. Trying to relive the glory days."

"We are _here_ ," Harry bites out, "for Niall."

"We can't help Niall," says Liam hopelessly. "Not when we're all so fucked up and fucking. Broken. He needs us too much. And we can't do anything, not really."

"Shut up," says Zayn roughly. "Shut up shut up shut up-"

"M'gonna," Niall mumbles, then doubles over and is sick again.

"Oh, babes," says Zayn, voice soft once more. "Oh, Niall, you've had a hard go of it, haven't you?"

Niall makes a noise between a retch and a sob. Harry hands him the water bottle, then gently wipes Niall's mouth with the hem of his stupid flowery shirt.

"Almost there, Ni," he says encouragingly. "Then it'll all be alright again."

Niall sobs again, but he swallows the water dutifully and lets Harry guide him 'round the puddle of sick.

"Liam, c'mere," Louis orders sharply. "Let's keep walking, sunshine."

Liam obeys. After a minute of silent walking, Louis takes his hand.

"You're okay," he says with determination. "We're all okay."

"I'm really drunk," says Liam, "and sad and scared. And I don't know how to fix any of this."

"That'll go away in the morning," says Louis soothingly. He squeezes his hand. "Keep walking."

Liam does as he's told.

...

Zayn unlocks the door. Annie pads into the foyer inquiringly, but thankfully stays quiet. Liam pets her absentmindedly. Harry brings Niall straight to the bathroom. Louis leads Liam into the kitchen, sits him at the island, and quickly fills five glasses in the kitchen sink. He drains his own, then sets one down in front of Liam.

"Drink the whole thing, Payno, yeah?"

Liam nods. He looks drunk and morose and younger than usual, a little bit like the sad, stiff Liam of the early X-Factor days, before Louis corrupted him and tricked him into becoming best mates.

Louis' a little bit mad at him, but he comes around the island to hug him anyway.

"You're okay, bro."

He hands another glass to Zayn, gestures for him to keep an eye on Liam, then heads down the hall with the remaining waters.

Niall's huddled over the toilet, shivering and miserable. Harry sits beside him, rubbing his back and humming soothingly.

"Hey," says Louis, lowering himself to the cold tile floor. "How you feeling, Niall?"

"Bloody awful," he groans, face pressed to the porcelain.

"I've got water, when you're up to it," Louis tells him. He hands Harry the other glass, then takes up rubbing Niall's back as Harry drinks.

"Y'alright, Curly?" he asks, keeping his eyes fixed blindly on his hands.

"Fine," says Harry, voice raspy.

"Let's try some water, Niall," Louis coaxes. "Sit up a bit, love, that's it. We've got you."

As he helps Niall drink, Harry starts humming again. Louis recognizes the tune as _You Are My Sunshine_ and for some reason it makes him want to cry. Niall swallows obediently, then slumps back against the toilet.

"Good lad," says Louis encouragingly, moving to rub Niall's back.

"Oh," says Harry, breaking off humming.

His own hand comes up to touch Louis' tentatively. Louis notices for the first time his swollen, purple knuckles. He supposes his hand hurts a bit, now that he thinks about it.

"You really don't know how to throw a punch," says Harry, still touching him in a way that is horrible and gentle and cautious.

"He shouldn't have called you that," Louis counters.

Harry shrugs, pointer finger tracing gently over the swell of Louis' knuckles. His nails are soft blue, nearly grey, under the bathroom lights.

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be."

"I'm going to come out next year," Harry confesses quietly. "Once the new album's out. It's all planned."

Louis looks up at that, eyes big, and Harry's smiling -- not a trademark Harry Styles celebrity grin, just a small, content little smile. He shrugs, looks down at his lap.

"Shit," says Louis. "That's amazing, bro."

Harry looks up, smiling lopsidedly and a little bit sardonic. "Thanks, _bro_."

Niall retches again, saving Louis from having to answer. Harry lets his hand fall, resumes his soft humming. Niall's breathing slows and he presses his flushed cheek to the toilet seat, letting his eyes close. Louis helps him drink the rest of the water, then lets him rest his head again.

It's quiet.

"I'm really proud of you," Louis tells the diamond-patterned tile floor. "Really."

"I'm really proud of you, too," says Harry, which doesn't even make sense, really, but he scoots a little closer and puts his head on Louis' shoulder so Louis can feel the vibrations of his throat when he hums.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey_...

...

Liam and Zayn sit in the kitchen without speaking. Zayn gets up at one point, refills their glasses. Liam nods his thanks wordlessly. Zayn sits back down at the island.

"We should've called Sophia," he says, after a while. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"She shouldn't have to see us like this," Liam disagrees. "Not like this."

"She'd understand-"

"I'm going to be a dad," Liam says, shaking his head, voice hollow. "I can't do things like this anymore. I was supposed to be taking care of you lot."

"We're all adults. We can take care of ourselves."

Liam looks up finally, meets Zayn's eyes.

"I know we can't fix him," he says quietly. "I know that, like. In my head. I know how depression works."

Zayn stares at the condensation on his drinking glass, thinking about Liam's words. _Depression. Niall is depressed._

"Still feels like we should be doing more," Liam admits. "Like it's our fault, a bit."

Zayn shakes his head. "People don't just kill themselves because they're a bit lonely, Liam."

"Do you remember," says Liam, like he's not even listening, "how Niall used to know, like, all the dates. Like, the day Simon put us together. The day the first tour started. The day our album went number one."

Zayn nods, thinking about the text Niall had sent him on his birthday, his first birthday without the band.

"We were all shit about stuff like that," Liam continues, "but Niall always remembered. He always. It was always enough for him. He was never. It never got to him, not like the rest of us."

"It must have gotten to him," Zayn objects. "Maybe he just didn't show it as much, like."

Liam looks stricken at this suggestion.

"Maybe we just didn't notice, you mean. Just like we didn't notice tonight. Or last week. Or-"

He stops, face going blank like he's had some new realization.

"We didn't notice with you, either," he says slowly. "We never knew you were unhappy, not 'til you'd left."

Despite two glasses of water, Zayn's throat is dry and scratchy. He coughs, trying to shake the sensation.

"That wasn't. I wasn't. I was unhappy, like, with the creative process. With the limitations and the censorship and bullshit. Not with- never with you boys."

Liam shakes his head. "Always felt a bit like our fault," he admits.

"I thought," Zayn starts, shakes his head, starts over. "I never meant for, like- for friendships to end. I know it was a bit selfish. Naive, like. Only I thought we'd, y'know, we'd be mad for a week and then we'd talk it out and we'd be. Good, like."

"We felt like it was our fault," Liam repeats in explanation. "Like we should've noticed, tried a bit harder to, y'know. Be enough."

"You were never-" Zayn's voice is choked, a little shaky, soft. He shakes his head hard and the room shifts, a reminder of how much he's had to drink tonight. "You were always enough. It was never. It was never-"

"It's okay," Liam interrupts. He looks tired, blinking down at the glass in his hands. "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah," Zayn agrees quietly.

It's quiet. Annie's nails click on the kitchen floor as she ambles over to where the window casts a moonlit rectangle across the dark wood. She rustles about a bit, then lays down with a quiet, raspy, almost-human sigh.

"We should check on Niall," says Liam.

"You're sure you don't need to throw up?" Zayn checks gently.

Liam nods impatiently. He's never liked needing care, much more comfortable in the role of caretaker. "Fine, bro."

Zayn shrugs, stepping over Annie to put the glasses in the sink before following Liam down the hall. Niall looks up as they enter. His eyes are bleary and his nose is running, but he seems fairly alert. Harry and Louis, on the other hand, are out cold, slumped against the bathtub with Niall tucked between them like an oversized teddy bear.

"Hey," he manages, voice little more than a croak.

"Hey," Liam whispers back. "You alright, mate?"

Niall shakes his head frankly, softens the awful honesty with a wry smile.

"They've got me trapped," he says, nodding to where Harry snoozes on his shoulder, Louis' bruised hand wrapped loosely 'round Niall's bandaged wrist. "Think they're nesting or summat."

"Fuck off," Harry mumbles, eyes closed.

"Right," says Zayn, as Liam sways tiredly on his feet, broad shoulders bumping his own. "Bed."

"Bed," Niall affirms. "Get them off me."

"Noooo," Harry protests weakly, nuzzling into Niall's neck.

"Gonna be hungover as fuck tomorrow," Liam mumbles, turning to press his forehead to Zayn's shoulder in a weird, sleepy plea for comfort. Zayn pats his head gently. "Soph's gonna be mad. And the car's still at the pub. Fuuuck," he groans.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Zayn says. "Bed."

"Bed," Niall repeats, getting to his feet shakily. He looks pale, nauseous, but he makes it to the doorway without getting sick or tripping over Harry's splayed limbs, so Zayn counts it as a success.

"Good?" he asks carefully, taking Niall's hand and prodding Liam down the hall.

"Will be," says Niall uncertainly. "Don't think I'll make the stairs, though."

"Right," says Zayn, pausing, reassessing. "Couch?"

Niall smiles wanly. "Couch," he affirms.

...

Louis wakes up to warm, gentle breath and huge green eyes fixed on his face.

"Creepy," he mumbles. Then, "You've got puke breath."

Harry ignores this and keeps still, face inches from Louis'.

"We have to get up," he tells him after a while.

"Nah," Louis decides, closing his eyes again so he doesn't have to look at Harry too long. "'M good here, thanks."

"This is the bathroom floor," Harry says patiently. "I've a bad back."

"Well _I_ haven't."

"Yes," Harry agrees peaceably, breath still warm on Louis' face. He keeps his eyes shut. "But I have. And I want to sleep with you."

"Too knackered. And you've got puke breath."

"Not sex," Harry scorns, "just sleep."

"Sleep here," says Louis grumpily.

Harry is quiet. Louis feels him breathe. Then there's a gusty huff, a good deal of rustling, and then a _thud_ and a quiet little "Ow."

Louis cracks an eye open, watches Harry rub his head and glare at the toilet bowl indignantly, long body stretched across the tile floor.

"What're you doing?"

"Laying down," says Harry grumpily. "I can't sleep sitting up. I've a bad-"

"Back," Louis finishes. "I know."

He finds himself shifting, illogically, stretching out to lay alongside Harry on the cold tile, pillowing his head in his arms. Their faces end up a bit closer than he'd planned.

"Hi," Louis whispers. He fancies he can see Harry's eyelashes flutter as he breathes.

"Hi," says Harry, a little stroppy but mostly breathless.

"You're laying on a bathroom floor," Louis tells him.

"So're you."

"Smells a bit pukey."

"Probably because of the puke," says Harry reasonably.

Louis leans over and kisses him, sour mouths and cold tiles. Harry keeps his eyes closed when he pulls back, lips parted and lashes very dark.

"Please don't make me sleep here," he whispers, eyes still screwed shut, and Louis can't help but laugh. " _Louuuu,"_ he whines.

Louis kisses him again, fast, then rolls away to stare at the ceiling.

"I can't move," he says. "You'll have to carry me."

"You've just put your head in puke," says Harry apologetically, then honks in laughter as Louis jolts upright.

"Brat," Louis mumbles as Harry's laughter ebbs.

Harry sits up, too, presses his mouth against Louis' like a child, clumsy, close-lipped, 'til their noses bump and Louis can feel Harry's eyelashes ticking against his cheek.

"Bed," says Harry, once he's pulled back. He finds Louis' hand and swings it easily between them. "Please. Just to sleep."

Louis looks at him, painted in shades of deep, dusky blue, reducing the face he knows too well to shapes and suggestions. The sharp, square cut of him. The full, curving bloom of his mouth. His eyes, too big, too luminous. The fine, golden frizz of his curls, standing up about his head in a halo of static electricity.

He knows what Harry wants and he knows why he wants it.

In a few days they will leave this place -- that's just reality, no matter how cheerfully Niall elects to ignore it -- and Harry will go back to LA and Louis will go back to Doncaster and this strange, nostalgic spell will break. This is not love, but habit.

It's easy now to forget that, though, to let his body move instinctively, to nod silently and put his mouth to the soft underside of Harry's wrist and feel the pulse racing there.

"Thank you," Harry breathes.

They meet Zayn in the hallway. He's struggling with an oversized bundle of comforters, a couple pillows piled haphazardly on top. He laughs in relief when Louis steps forward to relieve him of half the load.

"Thanks, bro."

"Blanket fort?" Louis quirks an eyebrow teasingly.

Zayn shrugs, smiling a little. "Niall's on the couch. Figured me an' Liam'd hack it on the floor. Easier this way to, y'know, keep an eye on things."

Louis nods in understanding. Harry cracks his back and says gamely, "We'll get a couple more blankets. Make a proper fort of it."

"Right, so you'll sleep on the floor for Niall, but not for me?" Louis feigns offense, letting Harry press up against his back as they climb the stairs.

"I'd do anything for Niall," says Harry simply. It's not really a joke, no matter how he smiles.

...

It's dark and quiet, but they're all awake. It's been three years, but Louis still knows the way his boys breathe. There's a soft noise from the kitchen, like maybe the dogs are shifting. Then a rustle from the couch as Niall turns onto his side.

"As soon as I did it," Niall says softly, and his accent is so thick his words are nearly indistinguishable, "I realized, like. I didn't want to die. Not really. "

Harry stops breathing entirely. It's too dark to see anything, but Louis childishly screws his eyes shut tight, 'til light bursts behinds his closed eyelids.

"So I, like. I was right calm about it, actually. Just picked up me phone and called an ambulance and put a towel on the. Like. On m'wrists. And just waited it out in the tub. Proper posh."

"You didn't want," Louis says slowly, in a distant voice that is not his own, "to die."

There's a rustle from above that might be Niall shaking his head.

"No. I mean. Thought I did, obviously. And then I just. I think I just. I'd been down for a while and I think I was just missing how it used to be and I wanted to see you boys so I just-"

Louis sits up fast. He's a little bit drunk, but he doesn't think that's what's got his head whirling, suddenly.

"Y'wanted to. T'see us. So you slit your wrists open," he says flatly.

"Louis," says Zayn.

"That’s not what I mean. I didn’t do it to—I was just feeling alone, like-- I know it doesn't make sense," Niall says quickly, a little panicked. He sits up, too. "It's not. It's not rational. It's- I've been up and down for years, and I just wasn't going back up his time and I just-"

He'd called and called and called that night, and Louis had sat on the edge of his bed and watched them all ring out, one by one. He can't breathe suddenly.

"You tried to _kill yourself_ , Niall, that's not- you don't- there's no 'whoops only joking' when you're-"

"Lay off him," says Zayn sharply, going up on an elbow.

Louis feels hysterical, like if he opens his mouth he might just start laughing or crying or cursing and never stop.

"We're all drunk," says Harry. He rolls over so that his face is towards the ceiling. The light off the cable box highlights the bridge of his nose and shines alien-green across his glassy eyes. "I don't think we should talk about this now."

"We can't just brush this off," Liam disagrees. "We can't just ignore it 'til a more convenient time. We can't-"

"We shouldn't talk about this drunk-"

"Right, should I just call your PA, then? Have her pencil this in sometime next week?"

Harry's shoulders go tense with hurt. His back is going to be fucked tomorrow, Louis thinks dimly.

"Right," says Niall flatly. "This was a mistake. Goodnight."

"Niall," says Zayn.

Another rustle as Niall turns away from them, shoulders set stubbornly. Zayn lets out a defeated little sniff and puts his face into a pillow.

Louis finds he can open his mouth again, letting out a breath like he's been punched in the gut. Harry's head turns at the sound. His eyes are shiny with tears, but his face is dry when he presses it into Louis' neck, fingers clutching at him with a death grip.

It's better like this.

...

The next morning is... bad.

Sophia flicks through the photos on her phone, sitting at the kitchen table as the boys sleep in the next room. They're all amateur pictures, blurry, obviously taken on a cellphone, but the faces are unmistakable.

Harry, looking right back at the camera with a polite little frown.

Zayn and Louis, leaning against the bar, heads close together.

Liam and Zayn, smiling bookends on either end of a group of underdressed girls, stances tense, Liam's eyebrows anxious.

Liam and Harry, a little bit drunk, snuggled up in the booth, laughing at something offscreen.

Louis, head ducked, hand raised to shield his face, middle finger casually aloft.

Niall, laughing, face bright, hands raised in an animation as he tells a story, white bandages visible over the cuff of his flannel.

Niall, propped between Liam and Louis, face slack and white, eyes mostly closed.

Niall, slumped in a stool, mostly hidden behind Louis' tense-shouldered stance, head lolling.

Niall, throwing back a shot. Niall, laughing with the boys. Niall, surrounded by smiling fans, face strangely vacant. Niall, hunched over, vomiting. Niall, limp between Zayn and Liam, chin down, arms wrapped 'round the other boys' shoulders, bandaged wrists exposed. 

A gruesome selfie of Niall with a pretty, blonde girl perched in his lap. She's clearly the one taking the photo, eyes open and angled towards the camera as she presses a lipsticky kiss to the Irish boy's cheek. Niall is a mess, barely conscious, pupils blown, eyes mostly closed, face red, head lolling.

Sophia has to shut off her phone then, a stress headache forming behind her eyes, matching the ache of her lower back.

"Bloody fucking hell," she whispers, thumbs digging into her temple.

Some days Sophia thinks she would really, truly kill a man for a mug of nice, hot caffeinated coffee. Today is one of those days. Instead, she fills a glass of water and drinks it mechanically, forces herself to eat a yogurt and sits still 'til the urge to retch it back up passes.

She lets the dogs out, prodding a reluctant Kanye out the door into the cold, rainy morning.

When Liam bolts through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom, she finds the paracetamol and a wet flannel and follows him down the hallway.

Liam's flushing the toilet, scrubbing at his mouth, when she comes to stand in the doorway. He sits back on his heels and won't look at her.

"Hey," he says, voice rusty.

"Morning," says Sophia. She can't quite keep the dryness from her voice. "Fun night?"

Liam shakes his head, hollow eyes fixed on the wall. "We fucked up. We- I fucked up."

"There are a lot of pictures," she tells him, figuring there's no point in mincing words. "It's pretty bad."

"I know," says Liam. He takes the damp flannel gratefully, burying his face in it.

He emerges, big-eyed and penitent, finally allowing himself to meet Sophia's unimpressed eyes.

"Is it-"

"It's bad," she cuts him off, voice gentler this time. "Really bad, babe. I'm sorry."

After a second, Liam nods numbly. Then, just as quickly, he's shaking his head.

"You don't have to be sorry," he says, shaking his head fiercely. "It's not your fault. This is- this is on me. I should have seen things were getting out of hand."

Sophia doesn't disagree, but some of the harshness is gone from her voice now as she shakes out a couple pills into her palm, hands them to Liam.

"Where's the car?"

"In town. We left it. I'm- I wasn't going to drink. I don't know why-"

"We'll have someone pick it up on their way to the house," Sophia decides.

"Someone? Who's-"

"Harry's people called this morning to say they were sending someone. They're not happy about the tabloids, obviously."

"Obviously," Liam echoes, something hard in his voice. Sophia's frown deepens.

"And they recommended we call someone as well. Paddy or Alberto or-"

"We're safe," Liam argues. "They don't know where the house is."

"No," Sophia agrees. "It's when you leave the house that the trouble starts, innit?"

Liam doesn't bother arguing that one.

"Rinse your mouth out," Sophia says after a moment. "I'll make coffee."

"Soph," says Liam wretchedly as she turns away.

He's still on his knees when she turns back to him, which has to be uncomfortable on the hard tile. He's got sleepy hangover eyes and a pillow crease on his left cheek and his hair's messy, stuck up in a lopsided peak reminiscent of his faux-hawk days. He looks young and scared and penitent.

"I'm not mad at you," she says, sighing. "I'm just-"

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know this isn't what you need from me. Or what Niall needs. We're having a baby. I'm going to be a dad. Dads don't- I'll do better."

He looks so stricken, eyes so horribly earnest and guilty, that Sophia softens despite herself.

"Liam," she says, lowering herself to her knees with considerable effort. Liam's hands come up to help her, and she catches them within her own smaller palms. "You were stupid. All of you. But-"

Liam shakes his head, disgusted, frowning down at their linked hands. "The others are- I should have known better."

"You should have," Sophia agree measuredly. "They should have, too. I understand, though, babe. It's been a tough couple days."

Liam doesn't say anything, frowning. Sophia sighs.

"I know this is a lot. It's alright if you're having a hard time."

Liam shakes his head stubbornly. "Niall needs-"

" _You_ need some coffee," Sophia interrupts. "And _I_ need to get off this floor before my knees give out."

This seems to snap Liam back to reality. In the next moment he's on his feet, scolding Soph for the strain she's putting on her knees even as he eases her upright.

"I love you," she tells him, interrupting once more.

His face goes soft. "I love you, too."

She steps back before he can kiss her, laughing fondly at the way his puckered lips fall into a pout.

"Don't come near me 'til you've brushed your bloody teeth," she tells him firmly. "I'll go start coffee."

...

It's a dark, grey sort of day. Heavy, steady rain hits the roof overhead in a soothing rhythm.

Liam throws up again, then seems to feel better. He finds a Scrabble board somewhere, and he and Sophia play at the kitchen table, not talking much, except for when Sophia breaks into laughter at Liam's abysmal spelling.

Around noon, Harry wanders into the kitchen, looking rumpled and sleepy and soft. He shakes his head when Sophia offers him coffee, sipping at a glass of water with his eyes mostly closed.

"Your management called me this morning," Sophia tells him. "They want to send up some security."

Harry has to clear his throat a few times, wincing. His voice still comes out rusty. "What'd you say?"

She frowns at him. "Told them I'm not your bloody secretary. Nor am I Liam's."

Liam snorts coldly, eyes on his Scrabble tiles.

"Sorry," says Harry, looking sincere. "M'phone's been dead since last night. I'll call off the security and tell them to leave you alone."

Sophia shrugs. "S'alright. Some security might be a good idea anyhow."

Harry makes an unhappy face, similar to the one Liam had made this morning, and comes to sit at the kitchen table.

"I don't like the idea of, like," he stops, visibly thinking. "S'better when it's just us."

Sophia privately disagrees, surveying the stiff way Liam and Harry avoid eye contact.

"S'up to you, I guess," she says finally. "Only I don't think you should leave the house if you haven't got security."

Harry shrugs, nods. His big hand comes out, long finger delicately nudging a few of Liam's tiles into a row.

"Triple word bonus, if you put it- yeah, there."

"Thanks," Liam says, not looking.

Harry nods again and gets to his feet. "I'll go sort things out with Jeff, I s'pose."

"They're not happy," Sophia feels compelled to warn him. "There are a lot of pictures. They're- they're not good."

Harry cracks his back painfully, then offers a half-hearted little smile. "I'll see what I can do."

...

Zayn blinks awake slowly, sluggishly registering the hard floor beneath him, the stale taste of beer on his breath, the dull ache of his head, the faint smell of _Niall_ that permeates this whole house. There's the low, far off rumble of Harry speaking in another room and the quiet rasp of Niall's snores from the couch and the steady beat of rain overhead.

Louis' awake on the mattress beside him, engulfed in blankets, squinting sleepily down at his phone. He looks up when Zayn shifts, offering a tired half-smile.

It's wonderfully, achingly familiar.

In the next moment, there's a terrible weight plunging into Zayn's stomach as the memories of last night reassemble. The bar. The long walk home. The things Niall told them in the dark.

It must register on his face, somehow. Louis must see it, because he puts his phone down.

"Hi," he says, voice scratchy and accent thicker, like it always got when he was tired or high. "Y'alright?"

Zayn feels too slow and tired and heavy to find words, so he just rolls over, tugging his duvet along with him, 'til he's pressed comfortably against Louis' bony side.

"Fuck off," says Louis, nudging him a bit, but Zayn can tell he's pleased. His fringe is a mess, standing up 'round his head in a spiky mohawk, and his eyes are crinkling.

"Make me," Zayn retorts sleepily, eyes already closing.

Louis snorts and doesn't answer, just settles in more comfortably, shifting the duvet so it covers their feet.

"Missed you," Zayn mumbles into his neck, feeling warm and brave and clumsy-tongued.

Louis doesn't answer, but he doesn't push him away, and that's enough for now.

Zayn closes his eyes, but he doesn't sleep.

...

Niall wakes with a jolt, half-falling off the couch and stepping on Louis as he bolts for the bathroom. Liam grabs a water bottle from the refrigerator and follows him down the hall, knocking lightly on the open bathroom door.

Niall spits a few times, flushes, then turns to Liam with red cheeks and watery eyes. He smiles, big and cheerful. Something tightens in Liam's gut.

"You okay?"

"'Course," says Niall brightly. "Bit of a hangover, but all the best nights end in one, y'know."

Liam stares at him. Niall's smile doesn't waver.

"D'you remember, like-"

"Got home alright, didn't we? No harm done."

"Niall," says Liam.

"S'that water for me?"

Liam hands it over wordlessly. Niall takes a few big gulps, gargles, spits. Grins.

There's something grotesque about it, like his skin is pulled too tight, like Liam can almost see the grinning skull that lies beneath.

He swallows hard.

"Nialler," he says. "Last night was bad. Really bad. And you said-"

Niall doesn't seem to hear him. "Where's the toothpaste got to? Coulda sworn I kept some down here-"

_"Niall-"_

"Liam," Niall snaps. "We're all fine now, yeah? Lay off about it."

His own shirt had been covered in a rank combination of vomit and spilled beer the night before, and Harry had charitably volunteered his own. The buttons are done wrong, and the silk shirt hangs crooked on Niall's skinny frame.

His feet are bare and his hair is brown and his smile is completely foreign. Liam stares at him like he's a stranger.

"Right," he says finally. "I'll be in the kitchen. Toothpaste is under the sink."

He leaves. Niall doesn't stop him.

...

Harry's sitting on the kitchen floor, petting the soft curls behind Annie's ears and ignoring the persistent buzzing of his phone.

Jeff's not happy. The label's not happy. The fans on Twitter are not happy.

Niall is throwing up in the bathroom and Liam thinks Harry is cold and detached and Harry's supposed to be using this 'vacation time' to finish writing the album, only instead he's started sleeping with the boy he can't stop writing songs about, and so really Harry is not happy either.

Which is why he's sitting on the kitchen floor, petting a dog and quietly singing a morose rendition of 'Tomorrow' from the musical Annie.

Annie, who is suffering Harry's attentions with all the grace of a martyr, seems unmoved by his song. Louis and Zayn are better-equipped to deal with a Harry Strop, so when they enter the kitchen they only roll their eyes fondly and come to sit on the floor, too.

"Comfy?" Zayn inquires mildly.

"There's not really anything we can do about the pictures," Harry says. "Doesn't matter if we sued the publications. S'already all over Twitter."

The boys nod, silently absorbing this.

"They're sending security," Harry adds. "Only I convinced them to stay in town, like, 'til we need them."

Another series of nods.

"It'll be a bit harder now, to discredit the tip about the suicide attempt, but Jeff thinks it'll blow over. 'Til then-" Harry shrugs.

"This is all a bit shit," says Zayn redundantly. It's a stupid thing to say, but they all nod anyway.

"Fuck," Zayn breathes, then gets to his feet with a gusty sigh, moving towards the coffee. Louis stays on the floor, knee gently knocking Harry's own.

"Thanks for trying, like... with the tabloids. You're smart," says Louis quietly, but with a strange conviction. "Sorry we don't always treat you like it."

Harry's eyes go big. He tries to shrug it off, but the words come out strangled.

"Thanks, bro."

He sneaks a peek at Zayn, who doesn't seem to know how to work the coffee machine and is mumbling swear words under his breath. Then glances back at Louis. Louis, who is sincere and unguarded, petite and compact with his knees folded to his chest and his ankles bared. His bed head is obscene. One day Harry won't love him so awfully.

Last night they hadn't had sex, just shared a duvet and a make-shift mattress of couch cushions. Louis let Harry be the little spoon, and his breath on Harry's neck was more intimate, more dangerous than the sex had been.

"Coffee?" says Zayn, oblivious to the very dangerous and terrible things happening on the kitchen floor.

Harry shakes his head. Louis makes a noise of disgust, like Zayn should know better than to even ask.

"I'll make tea," he says, getting to his feet dramatically, like he's going off to war, rather than just to retrieve the kettle. "Tea, Harold?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry nods his head.

Louis comes to stand beside him as he fills the kettle in the sink. Harry can't help but lean over, press a kiss to the rounded bone of Louis' exposed ankle, the little screw that's inked there.

"Kinky," says Louis mildly, smiling down in a way that makes Harry feel warm all over, like he's sixteen and feeling like he might die if he doesn't have this beautiful boy's attention on him every second. "Wonder what The Sun would have to say about Harry Styles' foot fetish? That'd take the attention right off Niall, wouldn't it?"

Zayn laughs and Harry does, too, but then he frowns, thinking.

"Alright, Harold?"

"Yeah, good," he says, frowning. "Only forget about the tea. I've got to call Jeff."

Louis lets him go without comment, but he loops one of Harry's curls 'round his finger, just for a second, and it's enough to have Harry stumbling as he exits the room.

One day a touch like that won't matter at all. One of these days.

...

Niall won't stop fucking smiling.

Louis feel sick, hot, angry, caged-in, so tense he feels like his stiff, sharp skeleton might just burst right through his too-tight skin.

"Can we just- can we just talk about it?" he asks, fighting to keep his voice quiet, staring at his purpled knuckles.

Niall doesn't answer right away, takes a measured swallow of tea and puts his mug down gently, scratches at his ankle with one socked foot, says slowly and seriously, "No."

Louis' knuckles throb when his fists clench involuntarily. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stay calm.

"Why are we here, Niall, if you're not going to let us help you?"

Niall looks up, unsettled by that, just for a moment. He looks back down at his tea, face very blank. Doesn't answer.

Louis wants to punch something. Wants to keep punching 'til his whole fist is mottled purple and green, 'til his knuckles bleed. He settles for clenching his fists again, relishing the resulting ache of his knuckles, grounding him.

"Harry's going to try and come out, just to take the attention off you."

"No, he won't," Niall says, but it's uncertain. "They won't let him."

Louis shrugs. He's probably right, judging from the way Harry's been pacing the upstairs hallway as he mumbles into his phone with more and more agitation, footsteps still creaking overhead.

"We just want you to be okay."

"Don't you think I want that, too?" Niall retorts, only there's no venom behind it, just weariness.

Louis wants to cry. Everything is so fucked and all he wants is to grab Niall and sear the words into his arms, how much he fucking _cares_ , how much he needs Niall to be okay. He feels helpless.

"I'll go talk to Harry," says Niall finally. "He's just being dumb."

He's right, probably, only there's something tragic and earnest and sweet about Harry trying to save the day, Harry pacing the hallway in his socks with a frustrated hand wound in his curls. It's so easy to remember how it felt to be in love with him.

"It's not dumb," Louis finds himself defending. "We're all a bit out of our depths here, Niall."

Niall laughs a little. It's a terrible, sick, white-teethed thing. "Can't argue there, Tommo," he says, cheerless, and pads away.

...

Harry looks up when Niall walks into the bedroom, turning off his phone with a tired sigh. Niall moves to sit next to him at the foot of the bed, then hesitates, squinting at the duvet suspiciously.

"Have you got willy germs all over me Nan's heirloom quilt?"

"Louis' room's got all the willy germs," says Harry, mustering a weak smile. "And your Nan's heirloom quilt's still got its tags on it."

“Got it on sale. Was a bargain."

Harry doesn't answer him. Niall takes a seat at the end of the bed, bumping knees familiarly.

"You're not doing anything stupid, are you, Styles?" he asks, pale finger coming out to tap at the darkened screen of Harry's phone.

"Not if Jeff can help it," says Harry flatly.

"Good," says Niall.

"I wanted to feel like I was helping."

"You are, y'cunt. Just by being here."

Harry makes himself turn, makes himself look Niall right in the face, a face that's both achingly familiar and jarringly changed.

"What happens when we leave, Niall?"

Niall looks away. Harry continues, for better or for worse.

"I've got an album to finish. M'writing with Ed next week. Liam's got a baby on the way. You know we can't stay here. Not forever. We’ve got to make some plans."

"I'll be alright," says Niall, but it's unconvincing.

"Have you though about, like-- Y'could move back in with your mum for a bit. Or- or you could come to LA with me. Help me write the album. Work on your tan-"

Niall's shaking his head. Harry keeps talking in a desperate attempt to drown out the silence.

"We could go running or- or you could take up yoga. I could- we-"

"You just want me nearby, so you can keep an eye on me," says Niall, still shaking his head, still smiling.

"I always want you nearby," says Harry earnestly, but Niall keeps shaking his head.

"You say that. Only you never visited."

It's not an accusation, just a statement, but Harry's mouth goes dry all the same.

"I'm sorry," he says finally.

Niall looks taken aback. "Don't be sorry," he says, shaking his head.

"I am, though," Harry whispers.

Niall keeps shaking his head. His eyes are brighter now, angry.

"You boys need to stop fucking apologizing like- like you did this to me. You didn't, d'you get that?"

"We left you alone," Harry says.

"Yeah," says Niall, "only I'm a fucking adult, aren't I? I've got other friends. I've got m'family. I haven't been pining away for you lads up 'ere while you're off being a popstar."

"I didn't mean-"

"I don't need you to take care of me. I don't stop existing the second you lads go back to your real lives."

"I don't think it's fair," Harry cuts in, trying to stay calm, "to blame us for being worried. You tried to- we just want to understand _why_ , Niall."

"Y'can say it, y'know," says Niall flatly. "I won't break."

Harry shakes his head mutely, because he thinks he might. Break, that is.

"I tried to kill myself," says Niall, almost cruelly, and his fingers play across the white fabric of his bandages like he might just tear them off, make Harry confront the violent truth. "You can say it."

Harry's phone lights up, buzzing against his thigh. He startles so violently it falls to the floor. After a second, Niall stoops and retrieves it, hands it to Harry.

"Thanks," says Harry, and stares at Jeff's contact picture, lighting up his screen. Harry's flushed and drunk in the picture, smacking a dramatic kiss to Jeff's cheek. He's got a cocktail umbrella tucked into his bun.

"Y'should answer it," says Niall, voice very composed and normal. "Let Jeff talk some sense into you."

After another long second, Harry obeys. Niall squeezes his knee once, a forced and perfunctory gesture, and then he leaves the room.

Harry has to swallow hard so he won't cry.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always for being so nice to me - it makes me smile so big
> 
> hey too many real life people follow my tumblr so i made a [fic tumblr](https://charactershoesfic.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to follow! i will probably reblog a lot of pictures of harry and i can answer asks about dlig and idk i wanna make friends so hmu (can i follow back from a sideblog? idk how to tumblr, but ill follow you back from my main blog if need be)
> 
> more is coming but i wont lie it might be a while bc im busy and a slow writer but if you send me a nice comment and tell me favorite lines i will smile like a goof for the whole rest of the day and probably type a little faster


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Liam feels like the man from that myth he read in primary school, who was tasked with holding up the sky. Only now he's gone and sneezed or itched his nose or lost his grip, and everything's gone askew. The more he tries to make things right, the more things tumble."
> 
> things get Pretty Not Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry for disappearing for 6 months told u im a slow writer!!!! anyway if u forgot (I kinda did) the boys had a drunken night that ends in a drunken row and drunken truths 
> 
> warning for discussions of self harm, mentions of blood, some discussion of miscarriage, and boys making bad decisions bc they care too much
> 
> ps this is FICTION and absolutely in no way reflects the boy's real relationships etc and I shudder to think of it ever leaving the deep dark internet so yeah treat it as such

...

Niall sinks quietly into a chair at the head of the table, chin propped in his hands, face stormy. 

"Y'okay, babe?" Zayn asks, looking up from the Scrabble tiles he removed from Liam's custody after Liam tried to play the word "dog" for the third time in a game. 

Niall doesn't answer. Liam, who has been demoted to scorekeeper, looks up from his notepad with a concerned frown. 

"Feeling alright, bro?" 

"Jesus feckin' Christ," says Niall explosively. He gets up and leaves the table without another word.  

Liam and Zayn watch him go in silence. Sophia frowns.

"We're making things worse," says Liam, experiencing a dull, radiating sort of panic. "We've gone and made things worse." 

Zayn doesn't say anything, which Liam takes as an agreement. 

"God," says Liam in quiet despair. 

He feels like the man from that myth he read in primary school, who was tasked with holding up the sky. Only now he's gone and sneezed or itched his nose or lost his grip, and everything's gone askew. The more he tries to make things right, the more things tumble. 

"I don't know what to do anymore," Zayn confesses. 

Liam feels weary. Everything just gets heavier and the weight of it all is bearing down on him. 

He's not supposed to be the one suffering. He's not the one who's meant to need help. 

"Maybe we should think about going," says Sophia quietly. 

It's a thought Liam has very conspicuously kept from his mind. Even so, it's a shock to hear it voiced. 

Sophia looks a little surprised, too, honestly, but her mouth is set stubbornly. "We're not helping," she says. "And it's not really fair to expect us to. We're not psychologists, we're not-"

Liam shakes his head dumbly. 

"We're family," he says finally, and he looks up to find Zayn looking back. "We can't just give up." 

Sophia nods after a second. Liam loves her a lot. 

"I'm going to go smoke," says Zayn. He looks tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a weariness to his stance that Liam remembers too well from the days leading up to his abrupt departure. They all swore they hadn’t seen it coming, but he’d noticed those circles. He’s seen that fragile stance before. "Liam's hopeless anyhow. There's no coming back from this." 

"I played 'happy' and 'build,'" Liam protests. "Those were good ones."

Zayn looks at him pityingly. Sophia laughs fondly. Liam allows himself to smile. He's surprised at how easily it comes, in spite of it all. 

...

Louis comes in later, once Harry's hung up the phone and allowed himself to cry a bit. He hesitates in the doorway, knuckles brushing against the wooden door in a half-hearted knock.

"Hey," says Harry dully, staring at the ceiling. 

"Hi," says Louis. He steps into the room, somewhat wary. "Y'alright?" 

"Not really," says Harry. The mattress shifts as Louis takes a seat near his ankles, stance tense and cautious. "Do you want to have sex?" 

Louis' knuckles brush Harry's ankle bone, just once. He says: 

"I don't think that'd be a good idea."

Harry nods, because this is probably true. He rolls onto his side to frown at the far wall, shins pressing up against Louis' back. 

"Can you just, like- D'you think I'm cold and, like- distant?" 

Louis doesn't answer right away. It hurts. It hurts more than it should. Harry sits up, drawing his knees to his chest. 

"Right, thanks." 

"I don't think that," Louis says, rolling his eyes like he's got no time for Harry's hurt feelings. "Neither does Liam. He's just a weepy drunk." 

Harry nods, because he knows this is true. But he also knows that no one told him Sophia was pregnant. 

"I think," says Louis cautiously, "none of us are like we used to be." 

Harry looks at the sharp, stiff way he holds himself. The way his scruff distracts from the delicacy of his cheekbones, his eyelashes, his nose. He stretches out his leg 'til his foot is pressed against the warmth of Louis' thigh again. 

"Towards the end," says Harry slowly, "I started to feel like. Like they were eating me. Like I'd given them every bit of me and I had nothing left of m'self. So I tried to, like- to protect myself a bit." 

He doesn't say it out loud, only he's sure Louis' thinking it too. How they'd given themselves too readily and eaten each other whole. 

"You're allowed that," says Louis. "No one's entitled to you." 

Harry looks at Louis, who deleted his social media and moved back to Donny and locked himself away, practically in hiding. Harry lives in a big glass house in LA that's more windows than walls. They are nothing alike. 

Harry digs his toes under Louis' thigh, feeling the warmth of him. 

Louis frowns down at them. "You've got the weirdest fuckin' feet." 

"Hey," says Harry, nudging him again, "would you want to write some songs with me?" 

Louis doesn't look up from Harry's feet right away. When he does, he looks apologetic. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," he says. 

"I'm stuck," Harry pouts. 

"Smoke some weed, then."

"You're a better writer than me."

"That's not true." 

"We've already had sex; it's not like this could fuck us up more."

Harry makes this point very reasonably, and Louis pauses like he's considering it. 

"Don't you think, like," he pauses, like he's tasting the words in his mouth. "Don't you think it'd give the fans, like- the wrong idea about-"

It's like a slap in the face. Harry draws his feet back, sits up straighter, says very coldly:

"Right." 

Louis winces, like he knows he's said the wrong thing. "That's not what I meant, Harry. I meant for your sake, like- You've got a career to think of-" 

"Leave," says Harry. 

Louis does as he's told. Harry doesn't allow himself to cry. 

This is muscle memory, not love. 

...

It's quiet in a very still, very scary kind of way. Liam cooks cheese toasties for lunch. It's raining and the dogs rush in when Zayn goes out for a smoke, tracking in mud and the heavy, uncomfortable smell of wet fur. 

Liam burns the first round of toasties, and the burnt smell combined with the wet dogs is enough to have Sophia retching. She ends up unearthing a pair of ugly, oversized Wellies from the closet and announces she needs a walk. 

"Want company?" Liam inquires, dubiously prodding at the frying pan with a spatula. The bread keeps sticking and he's not sure what he's done wrong. 

Sophia pauses, back throbbing, then her eyes flick over to the den, where Niall is curled up in an armchair, cloaked in sulky silence, staring dully at his cellphone as it rings, then falls silent, then starts to ring again. 

"Niall will come with me," she announces, raising her voice to ensure he hears. "That way I won't get lost. Right, babe?"

Niall looks up. For a second he is dull-eyed and confused. Then he gets to his feet agreeably. "Let me grab some boots, then." 

His phone starts to ring again. He pauses, looks down at it unhappily. 

"Leave your mobile here," Sophia suggests in a deceptively soft voice. "Might be healthy." 

Niall hesitates, then shrugs and tosses the still-ringing phone at the couch without looking to see where it lands. Louis narrowly dodges a blow to the head, pocketing the phone with a muttered swear and a sour salute. "Yeah, cheers, I'll hold onto it, mate." 

Niall gives no indication that he's even heard as he follows Sophia out the door. 

"Right," Sophia says briskly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her anorak. It's been cold and drizzly for days now, and the grass is muddy as she steps off the deck. "Where we headed, Niall?" 

Niall looks wan and unhappy, standing on the bottom step. He hasn't got a jacket, just a worn sweater. He looks a bit like a forlorn little orphan boy, standing there in his wellies with his bandaged wrists hanging out the bottom of his sleeves. 

"You've not got a jacket," Sophia chides. 

Niall shrugs, ignoring this. "S'pose we better stay off the roads. Woods alright with you?" 

"You'll be cold." 

"We won't go for long, then." 

"Alright," she agrees. 

He starts off without another word. 

Sophia's never had an uncomfortable conversation with Niall before, and he's chatted to her about golf scores after walking in on her and Liam post-coitus. He is endlessly at ease. Not stiff or mean or detached. 

She has to hurry her pace to catch him. 

Boots squelch in the mud, rain hitting the leaves overhead in a quiet staccato rhythm. The cool air is a relief after the stuffy house. Finally, Niall sighs. 

"Don' ask me how I'm doing, please. Just... please don't." 

He won't look at her. Sophia forces her voice to be light and airy. 

"Well, I wasn't about to. How 'bout how I'm doing, yeah? I'm the knocked-up one here." 

Niall smiles a little. 

"And I," Sophia forges on bravely, "am ready to get this thing out of me and get my tits back. And my ankles." 

Through the trees, Sophia can make out a little stone wall. In the silence, you can hear the ocean far below. Something about it unnerves her. She keeps talking, fighting a tension headache. 

"And honestly I'm scared shitless. We've been trying so long, it sort of stopped feeling like it'd ever actually happen and Liam's so excited, I can't bear to tell him how scared I am. I mean, I'm happy. I am. Only I've seen those videos they'd show in phys ed, y'know? Bloody terrifying. And then like... after that? We've just got a kid?" 

Sophia keeps her eyes on the mud and sodden leaves, a bit surprised by her own honesty. 

"And then there's just- there's a lot of ways to fuck a person up. I'm not the most demonstrative person, you know. I don't want to be one of those cold mums who never hugs their kid or-" 

"You're gonna be a great mum," Niall says confidently. 

"Y'really think so?" 

"Yeah, I do." 

They walk in silence for a while. 

"Don't get mad," says Sophia after a while. "Only how are you doing?" 

Niall sniffs, licks his lips, quiet for so long Sophia starts to think he won't answer. 

"I think it was a mistake. Having you all here," he says finally. "No offense." 

She shrugs, waiting for more. 

Niall speaks slowly, like he's thinking out loud a bit, "I think when I'm with the boys, it's easy to convince myself I'm still that person. Y'know, up for a few pints and a round of golf and not a care in the world. And that I just made a mistake and I didn't really want to do it, y'know?" 

"Yeah," says Sophia, because Liam's different when he's here, too. Younger. Goofier. They mold to fit each other. 

"Only then I remember that this isn't how it is anymore. And the boys're gonna leave and I'll still be here, and then I'll have to face what happened. And-" 

He stops and looks her in the face, eyes very blue. Cheeks pink with cold. Sophia can feel her wellies starting to sink into the mud. The ache in her back is getting sharper. 

"I can't think about what happens next. And I don't mean that I don't want to. I mean I can't. I can't imagine a future for myself. I can't imagine feeling like this for another, what, fifty-some years? I can't-" 

He breaks off, turns, and starts walking again. Sophia stares at his back, frightened, for a second. Then she hurries after. 

"You don't have to," Sophia says. "You're not going to feel like this for the rest of your life, Niall." 

"Feels that way." 

"You've got the boys. But you've also got your family and- and have you thought about therapy?" 

"Therapy," says Niall flatly, but his jaw isn't clenched so tightly anymore.

"Liam's done a bit. I think it's helped with the worrying." 

Niall smiles a little. "Good old Liam. He worries." 

"Good old Liam," she agrees. "He worries about you, y'know." 

"I'm not supposed to be the one asking for help," says Niall finally. "I feel like a burden."

"You're allowed to feel exactly the way you feel. You don't owe it to any of them to be anyone but who you are right now," Sophia says. "Those boys love you something disgusting, Niall. I don't think you could drive them away if you wanted to." 

"Dunno," says Niall, smiling a little softer, "heard a hose and an angry pregnant lady do the job pretty nicely." 

"You're not wrong," Sophia concedes. 

Niall laughs. It doesn't sound how it used to, but it doesn't sound quite so hollow anymore either.   
   
He doesn't pull away when she reaches for his hand. They keep walking, hands swinging, soft white bandaids brushing against the underside of her wrist. 

...

The toasties are burning again. Zayn can smell them from the next room. Sure enough, a moment later Liam swears. 

He looks over to Louis with a half-smile. Louis was always good for a Fond Liam Mocking which always ended in an agreement that Liam was too good for them, god bless him. Only Louis' frowning distractedly down at his phone, thumb nail between his teeth. 

"You need more butter or the bread sticks to the pan," says Harry as he passes through the kitchen, padding into the den in his socks. He stoops to pet Annie, gently folding back her ear where it's flipped inside out. 

Liam grumbles, but there's a hiss as he adds more butter to the pan. 

"Hi," says Harry, coming to sit on the floor in front of Zayn, folding his skinny legs into a pretzel. He puts his chin in his hands, blinking slowly up at the boys on the couch. 

"Hi," says Zayn. He pokes out a socked foot, nudges at Harry's crotch playfully. 

Harry bats his foot away, cups his hands over his crotch politely, starts again: 

"I just wanted to let you both know that I'm leaving tomorrow. My label's unhappy. I've got an album to finish and I've missed a lot of meetings, so." 

He stops, posture very formal and tone very calm, a little rehearsed. Zayn stares at him for a second. 

"What?" 

"I'm leaving," says Harry again. "Tomorrow night. I've got to. Like." 

Zayn looks at Louis. He can't help it. Somewhere in the past few days he's fallen back into old patterns. Louis is still staring down at his phone, only his eyes aren't moving and his teeth are working furiously at his cuticle. There's a tiny line of blood running down his thumb. Old patterns. 

"You're... leaving," says Zayn finally, slowly. He is still absorbing the words, more than anything else, but maybe it comes out a little judgmental or maybe Harry just feels a little guilty, because he bristles defensively. 

"Bit rich coming from you, mate, yeah?" 

It hurts, a little, but mostly it's just a surprise. When Zayn told the boys he was leaving, Louis was terrifically mean and Liam was vigorously supportive in his efforts to pretend he was not angry and Niall was quietly hurt but Harry- Harry had gone a bit quiet and then he'd shaken his hand and wished him luck, perfectly professional, like it didn't hurt him a bit. Like it didn't mean a thing. Zayn had never really thought it hurt Harry, the way it did the rest of them. 

Zayn thinks about the things Liam told Harry last night, and he doesn't- he doesn't agree, but he understands. And so he keeps his voice carefully calm when he speaks. 

"Harry, if this is about what Liam said-" 

"Actually," says Harry coolly, "it was something Louis said. I've got a career to think of, after all." 

"Dunno," says Louis, finally looking up, "maybe Liam was onto something. Lost interest, have you? Want a bit more excitement?" 

Harry looks hurt, just for an instant. 

"We're not helping," he says, "and you know it. Niall knows it. He'll understand." 

"Harry," says Zayn, but then he stops because he doesn't know what else to say. He's not wrong. They're not helping. 

"I don't know what else to do," Harry says. 

He looks a bit more like himself, a bit more like a real person. His shoulders are hunched defensively and his eyes flit over to Louis, just once. Old fucking patterns. 

Zayn looks at him. Eventually, he shrugs. 

"I can't tell you to stay," he says simply. "I don't have that right." 

"No," Harry agrees, "you don't." 

He sort of looks like he wishes someone would try, even so. He glances over at Louis again, but Louis just glares down at his phone. 

It must be exhausting, Zayn thinks sometimes, to be Louis Tomlinson. To be so filled up to the brim, always in danger of spilling over. A part of him wants to reach out and touch the source of tension between his shoulders, to see if he can feel a humming motor or the rattle of spare parts. 

"Why've you got Niall's phone?" says Harry abruptly. And then, sharper, "Louis, what-" 

"Motherfucking shitting cunt fucker--" says Liam from the other room. The smoke alarm goes off. Annie starts to bark. 

Louis looks up, a weird and calm stillness to his face. 

"You're not going to agree with me," he says slowly, "but I've got Niall's phone and I've texted Niall's mum and dad and let them know what's going on." 

The dogs are barking and Liam is swearing and the fire alarm is ringing, but Zayn could swear everything goes quiet. 

"You... should not have done that," says Harry slowly, hollowly. 

Louis makes a tiny, sharp little movement that might be a shrug. 

"Probably not. Only I think they deserve to know. And somebody needed to do something, so-" 

"Niall's not- Niall's gonna-" 

"What's happened?" Liam asks, coming to stand in the doorway. He's got a little frown line between his eyebrows and a dishrag in one hand. 

"Louis," says Zayn, a feeling of mounting hysteria making his voice quake, "has texted Niall's parents. And told them everything." 

"What?"

"Niall can hate me if he wants," says Louis, ignoring him. "S'alright. I'll be the bad guy. I'm good at it. Only I'm not gonna ignore this anymore-" 

"This wasn't your decision," says Zayn, shaking his head. He almost thinks he might start laughing. "This is Niall's life, Louis-"

"He's got to stop pretending this didn't happen." 

Liam sinks down to sit on the floor, face a mask of confusion and anger. He shakes his head slowly. 

"I can't believe you. I can't believe this." 

"His parents deserve to know. They're his parents." 

"He's an adult," says Liam. 

"Exactly," Louis snaps back. "Let's start treating him like one." 

"He's an adult who tried to kill himself last week," Harry says forcefully. "He's fragile. You can't just force him to confront everything all at once. You can't just make these decisions for people, Louis-" 

"Aren't you leaving?" Louis asks him cruelly. 

"Sorry, who's leaving?" Liam interjects. 

"Louis, he's right, you can't-" Zayn starts, only Louis cuts him off. 

"Yeah, Liam, haven't you heard? Harry's fucking off home tomorrow. He's got a career to think of-" 

"That's not fair," says Harry hotly. "That's not fair, Louis. I asked- I wanted- only you--" 

"He can go if he wants," Liam says dispassionately. 

"I'm trying so hard," Harry bites out. 

"Can we get back to what Louis' done?" Zayn interjects. 

"I dunno what there is to say. I've already done it. I'll tell Niall when he gets back." 

"He's going to-" Liam stops, shakes his head. "I don't even know. I don't know what he'll do. Louis, oh my god--" 

"This wasn't your decision to make," Zayn says. 

"You always do this," says Harry, with quiet fury. His eyes are shiny, but his mouth is hard. "You always fucking do this. You decide you know what's best, and then you starting burning bridges. You can't live other people's lives for them. You don't get to decide how they live-" 

Louis' shoulders stiffen. He shrugs and bites at his thumbnail and doesn't answer. 

"They're right," says Liam. He's still sitting in the doorway, brow furrowed, twisting the yellow dish towel between his fingers anxiously. "They're right. Fuck. Shit. I can't believe this. I can't believe this." 

"I'm not sorry," says Louis, worrying at his cuticles. His thumb is bleeding again. "I didn't know what else to do. And we were about to boil over. You know we were." 

"Right, so instead you just blew up fucking everything," says Zayn, still feeling slightly hysterical. Like he might start laughing or sobbing or maybe throw a punch. 

The fire alarm goes off again.

"SHIT," says Liam, eyes wide. "The toasties-" 

He's dumping a vase full of water onto the charred frying pan by the time the other boys have joined him in the kitchen. The vase's previous occupants, some feeble-looking yellow flowers, are strewn across the kitchen floor. 

"Hey," says Harry, frowning. "I bought those for Niall." 

"Dunno why," says Liam scathingly. "This isn't a fucking funeral." 

Zayn wonders if he's the only one who thinks not yet, anyway for one horrible second in his head. He feels like. Like everything's very abruptly coming to a head. Things are ending, suddenly. 

Harry takes the smoking frying pan from Liam, puts it in the sink, and lets the water run. Liam quiets the dogs. Louis scoops up the scattered yellow flowers. 

 It goes silent. 

"Right," says Liam finally. "I think you boys had better start packing. I'll see about calling a car to the airport. Sof and I can stick around a bit longer." 

"I told Niall I'd stay a few weeks with him," Louis objects, but Liam cuts him off. 

"I don't think Niall's gonna want you around after what you've done. You can tell him yourself, but then I think you should leave." 

Harry is quietly replacing the yellow flowers - a bit battered and feeble now - in the vase. He's watching through lowered lashes, not speaking. 

"I can stay a bit longer," says Zayn, even though that's not precisely true. He'll call his publicist. He'll postpone the album if that's what it takes. "You've got the baby coming, you don't need-" 

Liam looks at him, and there's a sad sort of resignation in his face. A weary, rueful tilt to his mouth. 

"No offense, mate, but let's not kid ourselves." 

It hits like a blow to the gut, and Zayn has to struggle not to buckle under the weight of it. Liam turns back to the sink, starts scrubbing violently at the singed pan, which is still smoking a bit. 

Harry puts the flowers back on the counter. Turns and heads for the stairs. After a minute, Zayn follows. He is retreating. He is always retreating. 

...

Louis sits on the back deck and smokes a cigarette and refuses to let himself feel sorry. His hands won't stop shaking, but he tells himself it's from nicotine withdrawal. He hasn't smoked all day. One more drag, one more cigarette, and the shaking will stop. 

The horrible, restless sensation rattling within his rib cage has gone away. He's grateful for that much. 

The door opens as Liam ushers the dogs outside. He's wearing ridiculous rubber gloves to wash dishes with. Any other time, Louis would tease him. But Liam closes the door curtly and turns away. Louis lights another cigarette. 

Kanye comes to nip at the rolled hems of his joggers - too big, stolen from Harry - but Annie gallops clumsily across the yard to stand at the edge of the trees and bark loudly. 

Louis wonders who'll take the dog. Why they thought it was a good idea to take in a stray fucking dog to begin with. As if they needed more trouble. 

His hands won't stop shaking. Annie won't stop barking. 

"For fuck's sake," Louis grumbles. He stubs out his cigarette, nudges Kanye away irritably, and starts for the steps. 

Niall and Sophia emerge from the woods as Annie continues to bark. She rushes to greet them, then tears off in another frenzied loop of the yard. 

Louis pauses at the top of the stairs, then hastens down and across the lawn. 

Niall's got Sophia's arm around his shoulder. Sophia's got a look of pain contorting her face. There's a dark stain on her jeans. 

"Something's wrong," Sophia says as Louis reaches them. "Something's wrong- something's- he was just kicking yesterday. I swear I felt him moving just yesterday-" 

"Help me with her," Niall grunts. 

Louis wordlessly gets an arm around her waist, wrangling her own arm over his shoulders, starting for the house. 

"I don't know what's happening," says Sophia, voice high. Her hair's damp with rain and her face is pale and clammy. She looks very, very young. "I don't--"

She breaks off with a cry of pain, knees buckling. Niall and Louis stagger under the weight, then get her upright. 

"Fuck," says Niall. "Fuck. Fucking--" 

"LIAM!" Louis yells. Then, softer, "You're doing great, Soph, you're gonna be just fine. Can you do the stairs for me, love? We'll go slow, ready-" 

"LIAM!" Niall echoes his cry. "BOYS! SOMEONE!" 

Sophia lets out another awful cry, wrenching. Annie is barking and Kanye is underfoot, nearly tripping Niall, and then Liam is at the back door looking irritable, then confused, then terrified. He throws the door open. 

"What's happened- what's- Soph- are you okay, what-" 

"It's too early. I've done something wrong," Sophia says, starting to cry. "I must've- I must've done something-" 

"You've not done anything," Niall says jerkily. "We've just got to get you inside, yeah, and then it'll all be alright-- Liam, move--"

After a stunned second, Liam seems to remember himself and moves from the doorway, taking Louis' place at her side. 

Louis hangs back to shove the dogs outside, slamming the door behind him and rushing towards the den. 

"I'm sorry," Sophia is saying, over and over. "I'm sorry."

"She started saying she felt crampy," says Niall, talking fast and slightly panicked as they maneuver her towards the couch, "so we turned back. Only they kept getting worse and then she started bleeding-" 

"-I'm sorry, I'm-" 

"-and neither of us had our phones, so we couldn't reach you boys and-" 

"What's-" says Harry from the doorway, eyes big. 

Sophia wails again in pain, and it seems to snap them into action. 

"Call an ambulance," says Harry sharply to Niall, who is standing by the couch looking frozen. He's got blood on his hands, on his bandages. "Make sure you tell them she's pregnant." 

Niall nods, and pats at his pockets blankly. 

"I've got it here, Niall," says Louis, feeling sick. He tosses the phone over as Sophia groans again. 

Liam is kneeling by the couch, his shaking hands clutching Sophia's. He looks up helplessly as Harry kneels next to him.  

"It's too early," he's saying, over and over and over. "It's too early." 

Sophia is crying. There's more blood and Niall is talking rapidly into the phone and Zayn is there, suddenly, looking stunned. 

"Zayn," says Harry, ignoring this, "take my phone and call security. Tell them what's happening. We'll need a car so we can meet them at hospital. Liam, Sophia needs a glass of water and a blanket. Can you do that?" 

He is calm and collected and a little bit detached, except that his hands are shaking as he digs his phone from his pocket and tosses it to Zayn. 

"How far along is she?" Niall calls, phone pressed to his face. 

"Nearly eight months," says Liam hollowly. 

"It's too soon," Sophia moans. 

"Breathe, Sophia. Deep breaths- Louis, come here and show Sophia the breathing thing your mum does. The one you taught me," says Harry. 

He's got a line of sweat above his upper lip, almost imperceptible. Louis is jarred into action, stumbling over to kneel by Sophia's head. Her forehead is beaded with sweat and her pupils are huge. Louis waits 'til they've locked eyes, then makes a show of inhaling slowly, tapping a finger against the racing pulse in her wrist to count out the seconds. 

"In, two, three-" 

His mum used to do this with the pregnant ladies, back when he used to tag along on her house visits. And then he taught it to Harry, tucked into a corner backstage at the X-Factor as Harry tried not to vomit from stage fright. 

"Just breathe with me, love," he says, remembering the way his mum would speak to the pregnant ladies, very calm and dry and unsentimental. His own voice cracks and wavers, but he keeps the beat of his finger steady on her wrists. "In, two, three-" 

"Ambulance is on the way." 

"What's happening to her?" Liam asks, returning with a glass of water. His hands are shaking so bad some water slops over the side of the glass and soaks into the rug. With his eyes so big in his white face, he looks terribly young and confused and afraid. "The other miscarriages weren't like this-" 

"We're gonna lose him," Sophia sobs. "I'm not meant to be a mum, I'm not meant to-" 

"Don't be stupid," says Harry briskly, although his face is white and clammy. "Don't be stupid, you're going to be a great mum. You've just gone into labour a bit early, that's all. Give the water here, Liam."

"Security's sending a car," Zayn reports. He stops, swallows. "Should I- can I help or-" 

"Get another blanket," says Harry. "And a change of clothes for Soph and Liam. Keep breathing, babe, watch Louis." 

Louis resumes his slow breathing, his rhythmic tapping on Sophia's wrist. There's fear, like ice, in his gut. Gripping and cold. 

"Premature labor's not uncommon, especially with invitro fertilization," Harry is saying, very calm. "Just caught us a bit off-guard, but it's gonna be alright. There's an ambulance coming, listen." 

Sure enough, there are sirens now. Zayn is back with another blanket and Harry is forcing Liam to sit down, to drink some water, and Louis keeps his eyes fixed with Soph's, counting out the seconds against the racing pulse in her wrist. 

In, two, three... In, two, three...

...

They're putting Soph in an ambulance, and the dogs are barking from somewhere, only then Louis and Zayn are hurrying to grab Annie by the collar and scoop up Kanye, and they're putting Soph into an ambulance, and Liam is standing in his socks on the driveway as the siren throbs in his ears like something stronger than sound. 

"Liam," Harry is saying, and he's got Liam's shoes in his hands. One in each hand. There's something funny about that. "Liam." 

"I've got to go with her," Liam says. "They've got to let me-"

"Yeah, 'course they will," says Niall, who is there suddenly and he's got a backpack and he's trying to give it to Liam but Liam's hands won't move, so Harry takes it instead. "We're gonna meet you there, bro. It's all gonna be okay." 

When Niall hugs him, Liam lets him. He puts his hands on Niall's back, unsure. He's forgotten how to hug. He's forgotten how hands work, maybe. 

"Sir, if you're coming with us," calls one of the paramedics in a clipped Irish accent, "you'd better come now." 

"Go on, Liam," says Niall, shoving him gently. "We'll see you there, mate." 

Liam gets to the ambulance somehow. He can't feel his legs at all.

"Harry," he says, panicked. "Harry. Where's Harry?" 

"Right here," says Harry, next to him. "Take this bag, Liam, it's got clothes for you and Soph. We'll meet you at hospital." 

He's so good. Liam hugs him as hard as he can, and Harry laughs a little like he's surprised, then gently shoves him off and says, "You should go." 

Liam obeys. 

...

They go inside to wait. Harry washes his hands in the kitchen sink, meticulously soaping up to his elbows, scrubbing at each knuckle, letting the water run and run and run. When he's finished, he leans down and drinks from the faucet, something weird and frenzied about the motion. His hair is hanging, and the water that streams from his mouth drips into his hair. He gulps and gulps, and then he turns off the faucet and leaves the room. 

"Right," says Zayn in the resulting silence. "Niall, you'd better let me change your bandages. Can't be hygienic, all mucked up like that." 

Niall doesn't protest. Louis follows them silently up the stairs, into the bathroom, standing in the doorway as Niall and Zayn sit on the lip of the tub. 

"Let me see them," says Zayn. 

"I can do it myself." 

"I know. Let me, yeah?"

"Alright, yeah." 

Zayn keeps his movements measured, his voice soft. He keeps his eyes fixed down. He doesn't flinch at the wounds and the ugly spider-black stitches and he doesn't look up at the rattling sound of Louis inhaling.  

"Sorry," says Niall presently. "You really don't have to- really."

"I don't mind," says Zayn. He keeps his eyes open. He is not retreating.   
   
"You cleaned the bathroom," says Niall, a bit later. "Sorry. I meant to-" 

"Yeah, you're out of bleach," says Louis, but it's a half-hearted meanness. "Was a mess." 

"Sorry." 

"Stop apologizing." 

"It wasn't like what I thought it'd be, y'know. It hurt, but not how I thought it would." 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” says Zayn quietly. He closes his hands around the new bandages, clean and white and dry. He starts wrapping the left wrist. He is not retreating. 

“Sorry,” says Niall. 

"You called," says Louis. "You called and called and called." 

"Did I?" 

"Yeah." 

"Sorry." 

Louis makes a noise. "Stop- fucking- apologizing-" 

"The car's here," says Harry. He's changed his shirt and wet his hair and bitten his lip bloody.

There's a moment of silence. Harry looks at Louis, and then Louis makes another soft noise and walks away. 

"Ready?" says Harry.  

Zayn finishes securing the bandage. He takes Niall's left wrist, kisses the soft white fabric. Takes the right wrist, kisses it. 

"Better?" he says. 

"Much," says Niall. 

...

Someone from Harry's security team drives them to hospital in a black car with an air conditioner that works too well. They let Niall have shotgun and cram into the back without complaint. There's a numb silence. Louis doesn't even notice the radio's playing 'til Harry says irritably, "Can you please turn that off." 

He sits hunched in the middle seat, posture tense and uncomfortable. He's holding himself so stiffly he's shaking, a little bit. The driver flicks off the radio as Louis dimly registers a familiar husky voice. Harry mumbles a thank you, but doesn't relax. 

"Still weird, innit," says Zayn, "hearing yourself." 

Harry doesn't answer. He's got his hands locked together and his thigh touches Louis' just slightly as it trembles. 

Louis wants to reach out and touch the soft skin under his wrist. Tap his finger there and count out slow, steady breaths like he'd done with Sophia, like he'd done with Harry years ago. Just breathed until the shaking stopped. 

"Is she gonna be okay?" asks Niall. 

They're all looking at Harry, but he's lost that determined calm he'd had with Sophia, the detachment they'd attacked him for. His baby hairs are curling wetly on his forehead, where he'd splashed his face with water, and his mouth is set. He shrugs sullenly. 

"You were amazing, mate" Zayn says, with a weird sort of vigor and energy in his voice, like he's forcing himself not to mumble. It comes out loud and clear and earnest. 

Harry looks up. His mouth falls open a little. He shrugs again, but it's looser. 

"He's been training for this all his life, hasn't he," Niall laughs, shaking his head. "You amazing bloody weirdo." 

Louis wants to echo the words. To tell Harry sincerely what a wonder of odd parts he is. The best he can do is press his leg more firmly against Harry's and absorb some of the shaking. 

...

Liam's sitting with his head in his hands in a stiff, ugly hospital chair. He jumps to his feet when they enter, then relaxes a bit like he'd been expecting a doctor. They've been given a private waiting room, which Harry appreciates. Normally he still feels a bit odd about throwing his name around, asking for special treatment, but right now he's glad of it. 

"How is she?" asks Zayn. 

Liam shrugs. He looks young and crumpled. 

"Dunno. I haven't heard anything since- I'm just meant to wait here, I guess." 

"C'mere," says Louis. "It's gonna be okay." 

Liam obeys. He's a got a young, bewildered sort of look on his face as Louis wraps him into a hug. He starts to cry and Harry has to look away, embarrassed. 

The first time they got Liam drunk -- after Harry and Louis had done some careful internet searches and decided Liam was full of shit and would probably not die of kidney failure, after some flirting and some cajoling and some good ol' fashioned peer pressure -- they'd all jumped into the pool, and then Louis gave Liam a smacking kiss on the cheek and told him he was alright, really and Liam had got that same terrible look on his face -- young, crumpled, bewildered -- and said you don't hate me, then? And Louis had laughed and said no and pushed Liam back into the pool, but then he'd turned to Harry with the slightest bit of a sad frown, and Harry had understood because they'd been like that, once. Harry can't stop thinking about that, now. 

Zayn moves forward, joins the embrace with some hesitance. Louis' hand grips into the back of his jumper, hard. 

Harry hangs back, feeling- something. Maybe this is what Liam meant, about being detached, only he can't bring himself to move. He feels like an outsider, sometimes. 

"I hate hospital," says Niall quietly. He's still standing in the doorway, Harry realizes. "Gets me all itchy." 

"Oi," says Louis imperiously. "Geddere, you two." 

"I think Liam could use a tea," Harry demurs. "I'll go-" 

"I'll come with," says Niall immediately. 

He's scratching at his own arms. Harry wants to swat at his hands and tell him to be careful of the bandages, but he doesn't. 

A brisk nurse who doesn't seem to give a shit about Niall Horan or Harry Styles brings them some paper cups of hot water and tea bags, a generic brand Louis will surely bitch about. Liam and Zayn have pulled two shitty hospital chairs together, heads huddled. Louis helps distribute the teas. He pours sugar and creamer into Liam's without the usual judgmental comments. 

Zayn is talking quietly but steadily, a hand at the nape of Liam's neck. He smiles gratefully at Harry when he hands him a tea. Harry smiles back, but it feels a bit weak. 

Niall comes and sits at Liam's feet, puts his head against Liam's knees and sips his tea slowly. Zayn moves his foot so it's pressed against Niall's thigh. Harry feels like he's standing apart, again. This used to be easy. 

"Louis and I need a smoke," Harry says abruptly, coming to a decision. "Come get us if anything changes. We'll be back soon." 

Louis looks uncertain, but he follows Harry outside, digging around for a cigarette. 

Harry swats the thing out of his hand. 

"We're at hospital," he says, indignant. "I don't actually want a smoke." 

Louis doesn't protest. Harry frowns down at the fallen cigarette, then gives in to his conscience and stoops to pick it up. When he returns from throwing it in the bin, Louis' looking at him funny. He frowns some more. 

"What?" 

"I forget what you're like sometimes," says Louis, like he's surprised. "I didn't think I ever could, but I do, a bit." 

Harry almost snaps back, wants to sneer, how nice for you, how lucky. He wants to hurt him a bit, to do something that's surprising, to prove he's a different person than the one Louis has the luxury of forgetting about. 

"I didn't mean it like that," says Louis, understanding. "Only sometimes I think I must've idealized you a bit, put you on a pedestal. Only then you go and do- You're just actually that good." 

Harry wishes he'd kept the cigarette. 

"You've got to tell Niall," he says instead, "what you've done."

Louis makes an unhappy face. His hair is mussed. His posture is tired. Harry has him memorized, but he can't stop looking. 

"Don't you think there's enough going on?" 

"I think you shouldn't have done it at all." 

Louis fumbles around, lights another cigarette. He holds it away from Harry's advances defensively, but hands it over after few drags. Harry takes in a harsh lungful and feels a little more grounded. 

"You need to tell him," he says again, "before he checks his messages and realizes himself. It's not fair to him." 

"I need another drag," Louis interrupts, voice ragged. 

Harry hands the cigarette back. 

"You should quit." 

"I had," says Louis, breathing in slow. "Until this happened."

He finishes the cigarette with his eyes on Harry's face. There's something very open and inquisitive about his gaze. 

"You're wrong," Harry feels compelled to say. "I'm not as good as- You did idealize me, a bit." 

Louis' eyes don't change. He shakes his head and puts out the cigarette. 

"Nah, I don't think so."

Something about his confidence is infuriating. Harry feels hot and angry and his throats hurts. 

"You need to tell Niall," he says again, harder, "or else I will. I think you owe him that much." 

It seems to hurt Louis, which is good, which is what Harry wanted, which it should. He coughs and nods and says, "Yeah, okay." 

"Right, then. Good."

"Good," echoes Louis, and he holds the door for Harry as they step back inside. 

...

Niall won't stop fidgeting. He's scratching at his own arms and pulling at the loose fibers of his bandages. He lets out a bleating laugh when his elbow topples his cup of lukewarm tea. Zayn puts some napkins on the puddle. It's a somewhat futile effort. 

Liam, in contrast, is very still. He sits hunched, breath shallow. His back moves up and down rapidly under Zayn's comforting hand. Zayn rubs in vague circles, trying to press calm and comfort into the small of Liam's back. It's a somewhat futile effort. 

Zayn has never been the nurturer. Liam was the worrier and Niall was the cheery one and Harry was the nice one and Louis dispensed love in every kick to the shin or elbow to the side. And Zayn was... Zayn left. He finds that he can never quite remember how he fit in with these boys now, not without thinking about how he left. The guilt filters over everything, sepia and fuzzy.

Liam's breath hitches. Zayn keeps rubbing. 

"I've got to-" says Niall explosively. He stands, looking disoriented. "I don't think I can stay here, lads. I-" 

The door opens. Everyone flinches. Liam's head comes up, then drops again. Harry looks apologetic. 

"Sorry. I- Niall, y'alright?" 

"I hate hospital," says Niall. He's standing, looking lost. His nails have raked white lines, like trails of chalk, into the skin of his forearms. 

"Let's get some pudding," Louis says. A beat. Then, "C'mon, Niall, don't tell me you're too posh for a good hospital pudding."

Niall keeps standing there. 

"C'mon, Niall," Louis says again, heavier. "We've got to have a chat, us two."

Liam's head comes up again. Harry stands in the doorway with his bottom lip between his teeth as Louis and Niall leave. He looks like he's teetering on the edge of something. 

"Come sit, H," says Zayn, understanding. "You're better at this than me." 

Harry obeys, pulling up a chair on Liam's other side. He sits, but he doesn't immediately relax. He's biting hard at his lip. 

"Louis' gone to tell Niall. I don't know how he'll take it, only I didn't want him to find out on his own. I-" 

"I'd forgotten about that," says Liam hoarsely. "Bloody fuck." 

"You don't worry about that now," says Zayn firmly. "Neither of you." 

There's a knock. All three boys flinch. If the nurse is surprised to see three out of five members of a retired boyband sitting around, she doesn't show it. 

"Mr. Payne?" 

"Yeah," crackles Liam, standing. 

"You can come with us," she tells him. 

Liam stands there until Zayn gently prods him forward. He fumbles out a hand, squeezes Harry's arm hard. Harry pats his back. The nurse shuts the door behind them, and then it's horribly quiet. 

"Fuck," says Harry. Zayn grips his arm for another moment, then lets go.

"D'you think-" 

"I don't know." 

"Fuck." 

After a while, Harry picks up Liam's abandoned tea and takes a quiet sip. He doesn't pull away when Zayn bumps their chairs together, but pulls his knees up to his chin, tucks his feet under Zayn's legs. It feels like the way they might've sat years ago, as boys. 

"Listen. Earlier today. I didn't want to leave," says Harry finally. "Only I felt like- and Liam said- and Louis-"

"I know you didn't want to," Zayn tells him.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Besides, I'm not really one to talk." 

"No," Harry agrees. "Only I think you'd better stop feeling sorry about that. It was just, like, a band. If you think about it. We were just, like, people who sang together."  

"It wasn't really like that."

"No," Harry agrees sadly. "It wasn't really like that at all." 

"What do you think Niall is gonna do?"

Harry shifts in his chair. "Like, existentially? Or about Louis?" 

"About Louis." 

"Oh. I dunno." 

"What are you gonna do about Louis." 

Harry frowns in affront, then laughs a little. "The current plan is just to be sad about him for the rest of my life." 

"Seems a bit shit." 

Harry laughs again. "Doesn't it?" 

Zayn looks at him. Harry allows himself to be studied, blinking back. He's got his hair tied back. The corners of his mouth sag tiredly. He is very much present.

"Liam didn't mean it," Zayn tells him, feeling sorry. "We're all glad you're here. And-"

Harry shrugs. "I knew what he was talking about. I think I do it on purpose, a bit, sometimes." 

It gets quiet. Zayn understands what he means. You needed to have things to control, back then. You built walls where you could. You hoarded the patchy bits of yourself that you could keep. 

"I didn't mean to do it to you boys, but I felt like-"

"I get it." 

"Yeah. I figured you would," Harry says, and then he winces. "I didn't mean that in a- Sorry." 

"I left," Zayn says simply. "That was shit of me." 

"Maybe a bit," Harry agrees. "Only it's been years. I think we'd better find some new things to be angry about." 

"Or we could just, like, stop being angry," Zayn suggests. 

"Hmm." Harry considers it. "Doesn't seem sustainable." 

Zayn laughs, and it seems to surprise them both. Harry wiggles his toes where they're tucked under Zayn's thigh. 

"Want another tea?" 

"Yeah, alright." 

...

Louis finishes talking. He can't get his knee to stop jiggling, and it's shaking their little cafeteria table. It sets their Jello wobbling. Niall watches it intently. 

"Look, I get it if you want me to leave," says Louis finally. "Only let me call one of the other boys first. You shouldn't be alone-" 

Niall's face is blank. He lifts one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "I'm not going to kill myself the second you lot turn your backs." 

"I know that."

"I'm not going to try again, you know." 

"I know that," says Louis, although he hadn't known that at all. 

"S'that why you told my parents? Try and get them to come stay with me once you lot leave? Let them have a turn babysitting Niall, stop him slitting his wrists in the bath?"

"That's not it at all-" 

"How many times did you say I called you that night? Now you can pick up the feckin' phone?" 

"Niall-"

"How many times did I call that night?" Niall asks again, quieter. Louis breathes out. 

"Something like fifteen." 

Fifteen exactly, actually. Louis had counted on the drive to the airport, after. 

Niall nods, absorbing this. "You didn't answer." 

"I didn't know." 

Another nod, crisp and cold. "If you'd known I was trying to kill myself, you might've bothered to answer, you mean." 

"You're not being fair," Louis rasps. "You're not being fair. We get too close and we're smothering you, right, because you didn't try and kill yourself for us, right. Only then you keep bringing it up, how we left you alone. Tell us what to do, Niall-" 

"I'm allowed to be irrational right now," says Niall, jaw mulish. "Mental instability runs in the family."

Louis' leg starts to shake again. The jello wobbles. He tries to do some deep breathing, but it comes out raspy. All those stolen cigarettes are catching up to him. 

"I'm sorry," he says finally. "I shouldn't have done it." 

"No," agrees Niall, unrelenting. 

"I thought it was the right thing to do. Or maybe not. It was something to do, anyway." 

"I get it." 

"But it wasn't my place. I know that. I knew it." 

"I would have had to tell them eventually, I s'pose," says Niall, limp. "It's just hard to think ahead to the future right now." 

"I'm sorry," says Louis again. Then, with caution, "Are you really not thinking of-" 

"I'm not going to try again," says Niall flatly. "Hurt too much, the whole lot of it." 

They both stare down at Niall's bandaged wrists. Louis' leg shakes. The jello wobbles. 

"I meant to call back more, y'know. I did. Only-"

"Only." 

"Only things haven't been... easy. Lately." 

"No," Niall agrees. 

"We're all a bit fucked up, aren't we?" 

"A bit." 

"God," Louis exhales. "Liam was bloody right. We're old and sad."

"I'm not old," Niall objects. "Bit sad, though. Yeah." 

"Reckon you're going to hate me forever, Neil?" 

Niall picks up a plastic spoon, stabs it into the jello. His hair, brown, falls over his eyes. 

"Not forever, Lewis. But for a little bit, maybe." 

It's fair. It hurts, but it's fair. Niall is nothing if not kind, fair, generous - endlessly so. He'd been an obliging audience, back in the boot camp days when Louis couldn't stand still, stay quiet for a second, for fear someone would look right through him. He had laughed reliably every time. Maybe he'd known, even then, that Louis needed it. He was always good about knowing those sort of things. 

Niall stands. He looks a little ill. 

"I've got to call my mum, I guess." 

"I'm sorry," Louis repeats. 

Niall shrugs. 

"You're not wrong. It had to be done." 

"It was wrong of me, though. I've got to stop... living other people's lives for them," says Louis, holding Harry's words from earlier in his mouth, heavy and solid, like marbles. 

"Figure out your own, maybe," Niall suggests. 

Louis lets his shoulders bow, suddenly aware of the tension climbing his spine like ivy. He grimaces at the weight of it all. He needs a smoke. 

"I need a smoke."

"Eat your Jello," says Niall kindly. "We're all staying alive here, Tommo." 

Louis does as he is told. 

... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the rest written, except for the epilogue so u can reasonably expect the rest in maybe 2 weeks! so sorry for the long wait
> 
> thank u again to everyone who's been so so kind in the comments and on [tumblr](https://charactershoesfic.tumblr.com) it means very much a lot to me!!!!! and if u wanna make me smile forever leave a comment or a message with your fave lines etc
> 
> thx for being so nice to me xxx


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He thought it'd end- different, somehow. They came here to mend things and Liam doesn't think they've succeeded, just tried to jam themselves into roles that don't fit anymore and picked at all the things that had just started to scab over. But then, they've never been too good at ending things."
> 
> Babies and boys talking about their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! bet u didn't think you'd see me again for another 6 months! anyway here ya go here's the last official chapter! (an epilogue is probably coming)
> 
> this is all fictional and obviously in no way a real reflection of the boys' lives or relationships

... 

 

Liam's got a son. 

He is very, very, very small and he's got Liam's round, goofy nose and his coloring is off, slightly yellowed with jaundice. He's the most beautiful thing Liam has ever seen, maybe, and Liam has traveled the entire world. 

"The jaundice should clear up in about a week or so," the nurse tells them briskly. "But he's perfectly alright." 

"Perfectly," Liam echoes, staring. 

"We'll want to keep him for a while, to make sure everything's in order. We like to when they're so little. But you and Mummy have done brilliantly."

"Brilliantly," says Liam, finding Sophia's hand. He can't find any strength to squeeze, so he just holds it in his own. One of them is shaking. 

"We'll keep him in the incubator overnight, but you'll be able to visit. We should let Mummy rest now. She's had a hard day." 

Sophia lets out an exhausted snort. She's cried her makeup off and her hair is frizzy with sweat, but she's still found the energy to be ironic. Liam is going to be in love with her forever. 

"Bit difficult, yeah," Liam agrees.  

"Can I hold him for a minute, before you bring him away?" Sophia asks. 

The nurse fusses with the blankets and makes a disapproving face when Liam climbs onto the hospital bed with his trainers on, but she puts the baby back in Sophia's arms. 

“I’ll be back in five,” she says sternly, and leaves them. 

"Fuck," says Liam quietly, with reverence. 

"S'a bit yellow, isn't he?" Sophia remarks.  

"He's perfect." 

"I knew he was a boy all along," Sophia says eventually. "I found out at m’last appointment. I know we agreed we didn't want to know, only I changed my mind and found out anyway." 

Liam cannot find it in himself to begrudge her a thing today. Possibly for the rest of their lives. He tells her this. She laughs.

"I almost gave birth in the woods with Niall Horan as my midwife." 

"Harry would never have forgiven you." 

"No, bless him."  

"Listen to him breathe. He's, like, an alive little person."

"Look how small his fingernails are." 

"I love you so much," Liam tells her. Sophia smiles sleepily. 

"I love the drugs they've got me on." 

"Do you think I should tell the boys it's gone okay?" 

"Hmm," says Sophia. "Five more minutes. You've got a family to attend to."  

"Fuck," says Liam in wonderment. "I do. Fuck. Look at his little eyelids." 

 ...

Louis comes back, looking as queasy and green as the jello he bears.   

"Where's Niall?" Harry asks immediately, ignoring the cup of Jello Louis offers him. 

"He went to call his Mum," says Louis heavily, sinking into the nearest chair. "He's alright." 

Harry and Zayn stare at him, unconvinced. 

"He's alright," Louis says again. "He told me he wasn't going to try it again." 

"He could be lying." 

"Niall doesn't lie," Zayn says quietly. 

"I don't like him being on his own." 

"S'a pretty safe place for a suicide attempt, I reckon," says Louis, a little bit of cruelty creeping back into his words. "Convenient, anyway." 

It gets quiet. 

"Don't say shit like that," Zayn says finally. 

Louis grimaces. "Sorry. I shouldn't have-" 

"He doesn't know how to be anything but mean anymore," says Harry bluntly. He doesn't even say it to be hurtful. He's just tired and it's the truth. He's tired of pricking himself every time he reaches out. "Can I have my Jello?" 

"Yeah," says Louis, handing it over. 

It's full of processed sugars and dyes, probably. The Harry of two weeks ago, who started his day with bullet coffee and ninety minutes of cardio, would have politely declined. Harry squishes the jello through his teeth with relish and cracks his back in his tiny hospital chair. 

"Hello," says Liam from the doorway. 

They all stand immediately, untangling limbs and knocking over chairs. 

"What's-" 

"Is Soph-" 

"She's great," says Liam, beaming. "It's all okay. She's great and we've got a little boy. I'm a bloody dad." 

There's a great roar of happiness and Liam laughs. He stands there, limbs slack like someone has cut the lines of tension that held him so stiff, and lets them swallow him in a hug. 

"Fuck, bro," says Zayn from somewhere under Liam's armpit. "Fuck." 

"Daddy Direction," Louis laughs, muffled against Liam's shoulder. 

Harry kisses Liam on every inch of his face he can reach, then gives him a bit of a snog, just because. Liam draws back laughing, then pulls Harry into an even tighter hug. 

"I don't know what we would've done," he begins thickly, “without you. Thank you. Like-"

"It's alright," says Harry. 

"And about what I said last night-"

"It's alright." 

"It wasn't. It wasn’t, H. I’m happy you're here. All of you," says Liam, drawing back and raising his voice. "You're my- fucking- We're brothers and we're always going to be." 

"Louis and I had sex two days ago," Harry objects, but Liam will not be buoyed down. 

"Really fuckin' weird brothers, then," he says jubilantly, and then there's another round of hugging and vigorous pats on the back and another sneaky snog-attack from Harry, although Liam is ready for it this time. 

"Where's Niall?" Liam asks eventually, after he's kissed Zayn on the cheek and allowed Louis a few loving nipple twists. "Have you-" 

"I told him," Louis grimaces. "It went- okay." 

"Okay," Liam repeats. 

"Oy," Zayn interjects. "You've just had a fuckin' kid, bro. Let us worry about this one." 

"I've got to call my Mum," Liam realizes, eyes going wide. "Fuck." 

"Fuck," Harry agrees, smiling. "Go." 

Liam starts to, then turns back like he’s just remembered. “Oh. Wait. First Soph wants you to come visit. The doctor said it's fine, but you can't stay long and wear her out." 

“We promise,” says Harry immediately. “We promise.” 

“Lead the way, Payno,” says Zayn, eyes soft and smiling. 

Liam again turns away, again turns back. His eyes are so crinkled with happiness it's a wonder he can see anything at all. 

"I love you boys," he declares throatily. "I don't give a fuck about any of the rest of it. I mean that. You're my favorite people in the world." He pauses, then amends, "Apart from Sof and the baby."  

Louis gives a great skeptical snort, but he comes to the doorway and gives Liam a bone-cracking hug, tucking his face into the collar of his sweater. Harry and Zayn cram themselves in, bumping elbows against the sides of the doorframe. 

"Bloody sap," mumbles Louis. 

"Love you," Harry tells the anonymous bony shoulder he is pressed against. “Love you all so much.”

 …

Sofia looks exhausted but luminous. 

“There’re my boys,” she says, smiling as Zayn knocks tentatively on the door. “I was wondering when my other children would come by.”

“Are you up to visitors?” Harry worries. “We can come up-“

“Get over here, Harry Styles,” she laughs, “and let me hug you, you bloody miracle.”

Harry is at her side in a moment, kissing her forehead in a gesture that is both childlike and grandfatherly. Sophia stretches to kiss his cheek, then squeezes his hand and mumbles something that Zayn does not catch. 

“He’s so beautiful,” Harry whispers. “Both of you are so beautiful.”

“He’s got his Mum’s looks,” says Liam proudly from the doorway. His face is so full of pride it’s almost goofy. Zayn loves him fiercely, in a way he can’t quite vocalize. He doesn’t quite have the words for any of this. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay,” he says finally, simply. “The both of you.”

“C’mere,” says Sophia imperiously. “Come meet Baby Simon Cowell.”

“I don’t like that joke,” Liam says at once, but the rest of the boys cackle as they cross the room to Sophia’s bed. 

“Hi, love,” says Louis. He stoops to give her a scratchy, gentle kiss on the cheek. “Y’alright?”

“M’alright,” she glows. “This ‘un was a bit too excited to meet you lot, that’s all.”

Zayn has always thought, secretly, that newborn babies are not much to look at with their pink eyelids and soft skulls, but Baby Payno has tiny, curling hands and a little round nose that looks like Liam’s. 

“He’s cute as fuck, mate,” he says honestly, turning to watch the warmth and pride turn Liam’s face soft. 

“He’s a little jaundiced, but the nurse says it’ll-“

“That’ll clear up,” says Harry knowledgeably. He crouches to put his face close to the baby’s. “Hello, Baby Payno. We’re so happy to meet you.”

Louis quietly gives Sophia another kiss on top of her head. “Well done, you.”

A nurse bustles in then, clucking impatiently when Liam blocks the doorway. She bears a tray of limp-looking food for Sophia and the pronouncement that Sophia is in “no state for visitors, no state at all” and that the boys must get “out, out, out immediately.”

Sophia presses a hasty kiss to each of their cheeks, muffling laughter at how obviously intimidated they are by the nurse, then blows them kisses as the nurse blusters them out the door. Liam follows them out into the hallway, grinning sheepishly. 

“Not bad, eh?” he says.

“He’s bloody beautiful,” says Louis with an unexpected rasp of emotion to his voice. “Love you, Payno.”

This prompts another round of back-thumping hugs and cheek kisses. Liam’s eyes are crinkly and shiny with tears when he steps back. 

"You lot can go home, y'know," he says. "The baby's got to stay in the incu-what's-it for the night, so me and Sof'll stay. But you lot can go home and sleep." 

"And miss all the great cuisine?" Harry scoffs. “The beautiful facilities?”

"Someone's got to feed the dogs," Liam insists, still grinning like a beautiful idiot. 

"We will," Zayn promises. 

Liam hesitates. "And Niall?" 

It gets quiet for a second. It's odd to feel so light and so heavy, all at once. 

"It's all gonna be good," says Louis quietly. "Go be with your baby." 

…

Once they’ve waved Liam off, Harry turns back to the boys, smiling, oddly buoyant. 

"A baby," he says stupidly. 

"A baby," Zayn repeats, grinning. 

There's something fragile about Louis' jaw when he smiles back at them. It reminds Harry of Louis' cry-face, the little puppy face he used to pull when he was close to crying and embarrassed about it. 

"You good?" says Zayn, who notices, who always notices. 

Louis pulls a comically sad face and offers a wilting shrug. Harry puts his hands in his pockets and starts down the hall again, to prevent himself from reaching out and pressing his fingers against where Louis' jaw wobbles slightly. 

"This is gonna sound really fucking stupid and selfish," says Louis, following. He doesn't say anything else. 

"Say it anyway," Zayn prods. He nudges Harry down a hallway towards the nursery. 

"You've just realized you're in love with Liam," Harry guesses. 

Louis shoots him a look, but some of the horrible softness is gone from his posture. Harry can breathe again. He slows his pace a little bit. 

"Liam's got a baby," Louis says finally. "And you two are- have your- The best I'm ever going to be is Louis From One Direction, y'know? Everyone else is moving on, but that's the highest I'm ever gonna go." 

Harry stares. He stops walking. Zayn walks into his back, also staring. 

"What the fuck," says Zayn with uncharacteristic fervor. "Lou-" 

"Yeah, yeah," spits Louis, whose face is going pinched and mean with embarrassment. "I'm not fishing for compliments or whatever. You asked. That's how I fucking feel-" He stops. "Sorry. I'm being a dick again." 

"C'mere," says Zayn, reaching out for him. 

"Maybe you're right," says Louis, stepping away. He's looking at Harry, and something about the direct address startles him. He can only blink back. "I think mean is all I've got left." 

"C'mere," says Zayn again, "you dick." 

"I didn't mean that," Harry says quietly. 

"Lou." 

“Oh,” says Niall, turning the corner and looking startled, nearly crashing into them. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” says Harry automatically, still a little blank. “Y’alright?”

Niall shrugs. “Can we go home?" 

 ... 

Harry's driver takes them home. They keep the radio off this time. 

Niall looks like he's been crying. He slumps in the passenger seat, quiet, but at least the frantic fidgeting is gone. He says a quiet "thank you" to the driver, then goes into the house. They forgot to lock the door in the panic of the afternoon. 

"I'll feed the dogs," Harry mumbles. 

Louis says something about needing a shower, then heads out the back door with a new package of cigarettes. 

Zayn stands in the kitchen and drinks a glass of water. He thinks about opening a beer, but changes his mind. Instead he finds an onion, a couple of peppers, and sets to work. The rhythmic punch of the knife against the wooden cutting board is bracing and loud. 

"The baby's okay, then?" asks Niall, coming to sit at the counter. 

"Yeah," says Zayn. He scoots a couple slices of red pepper towards Niall. "Did you talk to Liam?" 

"Only for a second," says Niall, chewing noisily. "He passed me in the hall, grinning like an idiot. I figured it must be okay." 

"Yeah. S'a boy." 

Niall sneaks another piece of pepper, crunching it between his teeth with obvious relish. "Fuck, I was hungry." 

"Figured everyone would be," Zayn agrees. "Never ate those fuckin' toasties, did we?"

"No." 

"S'nothing fancy, but you've got stuff for a stir fry." 

"I can help," says Niall, like a dare. 

Zayn hesitates, then turns his knife towards Niall, offering him the handle. "Yeah, alright. I'll start cooking the onions." 

Harry comes back into the kitchen, having fed the dogs, bearing the enormous bag of dog food they'd purchased the day before. If he objects to Niall wielding a knife, he doesn't say anything. 

"We're making stir fry," Niall challenges. 

"I'll make rice," Harry says mildly. He starts filling a pot. 

Zayn waits until the peppers and onions are hissing in the pan to ask about the phone call. Niall, who is flicking seeds into an oblivious Harry's hair, stiffens and shrugs.  

"I mean, it went bloody awful. I don't think there's any other way. Only I think she already knew something was up, from the other day, so it wasn't such a surprise." 

Zayn gives the stir fry a prod with a spatula. Harry picks a seed from his ponytail and stares at it, perplexed about where it came from. 

"She's coming up first thing tomorrow morning," says Niall. "They teamed up on me. If it was just my dad, I could've managed it, but she'd already called him by the time I-" 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Yeah," Niall grimaces. "They want me to come down and stay with Mum for a while, I guess." 

Zayn frowns. "Is that what you want?"  

Niall shrugs. "S'probably for the best. I might move back to London for a bit, see a therapist." 

"I'm in London quite a bit right now," Harry ventures. "Y'could stay with me." 

"Thanks," says Niall, "but you boys have done enough. I don't need to muck up your lives anymore."  

"You wouldn't-" Harry begins, but Niall cuts him off. 

"My mum will be up, so you lot can head home tomorrow. Liam and Soph can stay 'til the baby's out of the hospital, obviously, but-" 

"You sure you don't want us to stick around? I know your parents can be a bit-" Zayn hesitates. 

"Yeah, yeah," says Niall. "It'll be fine. S'the stir fry ready yet?" 

"Just about." 

"I'll get Louis," says Niall, slipping away. 

Harry moves next to Zayn at the stove. He is frowning. 

"What do we do?" 

"Dunno. Eat, I guess." 

Harry keeps frowning, but he turns off the stove and brings the rice to the table. Louis follows Niall into the kitchen, Annie and the scent of cigarettes lingering behind him. Harry wrinkles his nose pointedly. 

"Smells good," says Louis, ignoring this. He grabs a handful of silverware and starts setting the table. Niall grabs plates. 

"Niall," Harry starts, looking unhappy. "Listen-"

"I'm not trying to kick you out," says Niall, putting down a plate. "I'm not mad or anything. I'm really fuckin' grateful for the lot of you, for coming up here. Only I don't think it-"

"Sorry, what's happening?" Louis interrupts.

"My parents are coming," Niall explains, "so I was saying that you boys should probably go home. You've got lives to live, don't you?"  

"Not really," says Louis, frowning. 

"We want to help," Harry puts in. 

Niall dismisses this with a sharp, jerky shrug. "This isn't on you boys anymore. I've got to figure myself out, don't I? I think I need therapy and... I think I need to sell this place, y'know?" 

There's something plaintive and unsure in his voice, like he's appealing to them to tell him what to do. Zayn turns off the stove and brings the stirfry to the table. 

"I get it." 

"You're not, like, a burden, though," says Harry slowly. "You shouldn't feel like-" 

"Can one of you take the dog?" Niall interrupts as Annie snuffles under the table. "Liam's got the baby now and he's already got too many dogs for a normal person." 

"You don't want her?" Zayn asks, surprised. 

"I don't know what I'm- if I'm going to rehab or-" Niall gives a bleating, uncomfortable laugh and stabs a piece of vegetable with his fork. "I can't exactly provide a stable household right now." 

"I'll take her," says Louis. "And then if you decide- Later on, once things have settled down, you can take her back." 

"Sure," Niall agrees queasily. "Later." 

"I want partial custody," says Harry, blinking down soberly at where Annie's head rests in his lap. 

"Hey," says Zayn, fork halfway to his mouth. "Kanye. Where's Kanye? Has anyone-" 

"He's probably just hiding under a couch or something," Niall offers. 

"No," says Louis, straightening. "No, I shut them both outside when we brought Soph in. Annie was right on the deck when I went out to smoke, but I haven't seen Kanye." 

Zayn swears, starts shoveling rice into his mouth. "No one tell Liam," he says between mouthfuls. "We'll find him before they even get back-" 

"It's his fault for having the prissiest dog ever," says Louis, but he's already standing and putting his plate in the sink. "Fuck." 

"Bloody fuckin' great," says Niall crossly. 

"He's so little," says Harry anxiously. "And this house is on a cliff. Why would you buy a house on a cliff, Niall?" 

"It's atmospheric," Niall retorts, affronted. "Y'said so yourself." 

"Have you got flashlights, Neil?"

"Front closet, top shelf." 

"Grab a couple pairs of Wellies while you're there," Zayn calls after Louis. "It's muddy." 

"Right." 

"Niall, you stay here with Annie," Harry suggests. "And check the house. Maybe he's just hidden somewhere." 

"I've told you, I shut them both outside," Louis says impatiently, coming back into the room. He starts handing around boots and flashlights. "He's not here." 

"There was a lot going on and he's small. You might've missed him." 

"I'm not staying here," Niall cuts in. "Stop treating me like I'm an invalid. It's my property, isn't it? I know my way around." 

Harry grimaces, but turns away and starts pulling on a jacket. Louis hands Niall a pair of Wellies.

"We should take Annie, anyway," Zayn reflects. "She might sniff him out." 

"Is that how dogs work?" Louis poses, dubious. 

Zayn shrugs. "Worth a shot." 

It's cold and drizzly and dark, nearing nine o' clock. The moon is not discernible through all the clouds. Annie trots comfortably along by Zayn's side, stopping occasionally to snuffle at the grass. 

"I don't suppose this was the low-stress environment the doctors had in mind when they released you, Niall," Louis calls as they near the stone wall at the end of the yard. He's only a couple feet away, but he pitches his voice loud. Zayn understands. Something about the darkness makes it feel like you need to yell to be heard. 

"Wasn't really what I had in mind, myself," Niall agrees. 

"Do you think he'll come if we call?" Harry asks from somewhere to Zayn's left. "Does he know his name?" 

"Kanye!" Niall yells. "Here, Kanye!" 

"Liam's gonna kill us," Zayn mumbles. 

"He's probably gone into the woods," Niall concludes after a few minutes of fruitless yelling. 

"Fuck." 

"Fuck." 

"Could he have gone over the wall and fallen?" 

"Jesus, Harry." 

"It's a concern! People fall off cliffs all the time, Niall." 

"He's too small," Louis disagrees. "He couldn't get over." 

"If he jumped-"

"Let's check the woods first," Zayn says loudly. "C'mon." 

"Kanye!" 

"Kanye!" 

...

"Is all this woods yours, Niall? Or are we going to get arrested for trespassing?" Louis asks some time later. They've been walking for minutes, hours, potentially years. Zayn and Harry, who are in better shape and have probably not spent the last forty-eight hours sucking down carcinogens, are several feet ahead with Annie. Louis can see their flashlight beams bobbing. "Can you imagine that headline?" 

"It's mine. I haven't explored it all, but it's mine." 

"Lonely," says Louis, and then wishes he hadn't. 

"That's why I bought it," Niall answers frankly. "I wanted room to breathe." 

"You never did like tight spaces," says Louis, remembering. 

"It's funny. I remember I said once- If I could be not famous for an hour, I'd go watch a football game. Just get a shitty seat and a shitty beer and be a part o' that crowd. Yelling and singing and drinking. And no one asking me for an autograph. Alone in a crowd." 

"Kinda fucking lonely." 

Niall laughs frankly. "Isn't it? That used to be, like, my fantasy." 

"I used to dream about just sleeping," Louis reflects. "Just sleeping 'til I woke up naturally."  

"Feels far away sometimes, doesn't it?" 

"Yeah." Louis draws in a breath. "Feels a bit like I've been treading water ever since." 

"Like you already hit your peak, yeah? Like you've already been the happiest you're ever going to be?" 

The words hit like punches. Louis has to focus to keep his gait steady, feeling as though he's been knocked askew. 

"Yeah," he rasps. "Fuck."  

Annie snuffles up ahead. Harry ducks his head to avoid a low-hanging branch. Louis watches their flashlights bob.  

"I didn't know that's how you felt," says Niall after a while. It almost seems like a question. Louis tries to answer as honestly as he can. 

"I've just been thinking about it today. With the baby and everything." 

"And what Liam said last night." 

"That too, I s'pose," he agrees. "'Sad and old,' wasn't it? Trying to relive the glory days?" 

"Drunk Liam is a bit of a dick." 

"Not wrong, though, is he? I'm still here. I feel a bit like I'm the only one who can't move on." 

"Cheers to that," Niall says wryly. He never used to be so good at this kind of bitter humor, that sardonic kind of joking. It scrapes and rasps like a sore throat. 

"Look," says Louis, "I should have answered the phone that night. I'm sorry about that. I've been trying to- to prove I've moved on or- Some shit like that. I think I- I think you were saying the things I was feeling, and I didn't want to hear them out loud. I was- I dunno. It doesn't matter. I still should've-" 

"Wouldn't have stopped me," says Niall frankly. "Maybe I wouldn't have done it that night, yeah, but I bought the razor weeks ago. I drew up a bath last week, got all properly settled, and then changed m' mind."

A twig breaks up ahead. Zayn yells for Kanye. Louis exhales. 

"I didn't know that." 

"I've got," Niall says, "like proper mental health issues. I think I've got to- y'know, address those. Talk to someone who knows what they're about." 

"Yeah." 

"No offense. I still like talking to you lot," Niall adds after a minute. It startles Louis into laughter. 

"Got it, mate. I'm not the sparkling conversationalist I used to be." 

"That's not what I meant," says Niall. He pauses like he's sucking on his words, then adds reflectively, "You're different, you're not worse."  

It surprises Louis a little. "Am I different?" 

"We all are, a bit. I still like you, Tommo." 

Louis laughs again, but he feels a little hollow. "I still like you, too, Nialler." 

...

Kanye, that smug motherfucker, is sitting comfortably on porch when the boys finally turn back. Liam is there, too, scrolling through his phone and petting the dog absent-mindedly. 

"No- fucking- way," Louis swears. 

"Hey," says Liam, looking up as they trudge across the wet grass. "Where've you lads been? I've been knocking; I didn't have my key." 

"We were-"  

"Out," says Harry quickly. "Just taking a lads' walk."  

Louis snorts. It's a flimsy excuse and poorly executed, but Liam is too obviously enraptured with his phone, which is newly filled with pictures of a squashy yellow little head wrapped in blankets. He passes his phone around as they sit in the kitchen. Louis puts on tea. Kanye sulks in the corner, offended that his miraculous return is not being met with more hysteria or triumph. 

"Soph says he's got my nose," says Liam proudly, beaming down at his phone. "I reckon he's got her ears." 

"She does have nice ears," Harry agrees. At their stares he says defensively, "Fuck off, like you don't notice people's ears!" 

"It's not... the _first_ thing I notice about someone," says Zayn diplomatically. 

"Have I got bad ears?" Liam asks, offended. "If Soph's got such good ones, then." 

"Harry only notices people's ears because he's self-conscious about his own," Louis says, passing 'round mugs of tea. 

"They're _small_ ," Harry agrees, brow furrowing. 

"Let me see," Niall demands, but Harry shrinks away, pulling his curls forward to cover his ears. "Let me see your tiny ears, Harry." 

"They're not tiny. They're just not quite proportional." 

"Anyway back to my newborn baby child that was born only hours ago," says Liam loudly. 

"Technically Sophia did all the work," Zayn says dryly. 

"He's got my nose, though," Liam says again, insistent and shining with pride. 

"You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you?" Louis sighs, but he gives Liam a kiss on the cheek as he slides him a mug. "Good old Liam." 

"Good old Liam," Niall echoes. "You're staying the night here, then, Payno?" 

"Sophia kicked me out," Liam says, sheepish but still smiling. "She said she wouldn't get a wink of sleep if I was _smiling like a bloody creepy clown_ by her bed all night. Her words." 

"S'a fair point," Louis concedes, prodding at Liam's teeth, bared in impossible happiness. "Careful your face doesn't freeze like this, Payno. Your kid will get bullied for having a smiley dad." 

"That's not a thing," Niall objects. Louis shrugs. 

"I've used it before. I'll use it again." 

"Of course you were a childhood bully," says Zayn. 

"I'll go back in the morning, but I wanted to let her sleep. She's a bit crabby, but I reckon she's earned it," Liam continues, ignoring this. 

"You're so fuckin' in love with her," Harry observes abruptly, pointing a finger at Liam in accusation. "You are, aren't you?" 

"You're being weird again, Harry," Zayn tells him kindly. 

"I just like love," Harry dismisses him. 

"Don't be jealous, Harry," Liam tells him. "I still love you best." 

"Harry, let me see your small ears," Niall implores. 

Louis props his chin on Liam's shoulder, watching as he scrolls through picture after near-identical picture of something that is vaguely baby-shaped. 

"He nearly smiled in this one," Liam says, pointing at a picture that looks exactly like every other one. 

"Heartbreaker," Louis enthuses, playing along. "That dashing Payno smile." 

"Do you think so? I reckon he's got Soph's mouth." 

"Could be," Louis agrees, noncommittal. 

As Liam keeps scrolling, Louis moves his eyes from the screen to his best mate's face. He looks tired and stubbly, the blue light of his phone casting weird shadows under his eyes, but somehow despite it all he radiates happiness. He's talking excitedly, tilting the screen to show Zayn a video of the baby curling and uncurling a fist, and Louis reckons this is probably the best day of Liam Payne's life. 

He takes a gulp of tea and feels it slap against the floor of his stomach like a wave of salt water. He thinks maybe he should go to bed, feeling drained and unable to continue making banal commentary on Liam's endless roll of photos. He immediately feels shamed, then, for his spite and his self-pity. He thinks about Harry's words to him - meanness is all he has left. It's the brittle skeleton, the tent poles that prop him up these days. 

"Hey," he says, digging his chin harder into Liam's chin until he gets his attention. "Hey, Payno." 

Liam turns, knocking the sides of their head together playfully. "Hey, Tommo." 

"I'm--really fookin' happy for you, yeah?"

Liam's face goes wonderfully soft and crinkly as he grins back, open-mouthed. "Yeah, mate. Love you." 

"Love you," Louis echoes, and sits up straight. "M'gonna go to bed, boys." 

"G'night," Niall mumbles around his mug of tea. He looks dead-eyed and exhausted, but Louis thinks he'll be alright. 

"Your duvet is still in the den," Zayn remembers, "and all the pillows. We'll need to bring the rest up when we go." 

"I'll grab it all now." 

"I'll help you," says Harry suddenly, and he's out of the room before Louis can protest, gathering heaps of blankets and pillows into his arms. 

They make a silent trek upstairs, then dump their armfuls in a pile at the landing at the top of the stairs. 

"They can sort out what goes where," Louis decides, wrapping himself in his duvet and retrieving a couple of pillows. They both stand there for a bit. Louis thinks, _you've already been the happiest you're ever going to be._ "Well. G'night." 

"Hmm," Harry agrees vaguely, and comes to stand in the doorway as Louis tosses his bedding back onto the mattress. 

He keeps standing there, watching Louis with eyes that are puffy with exhaustion. Louis should have him memorized by now, but every time he looks he is newly surprised by the way he takes up space, the way his skin sits over his bones, the horrible and fantastic realness of him. He tears his eyes away, tightening his duvet where it's slung around his shoulders like a cape, and clears his throat pointedly. He tries again:

"Well, g'night-"

"Don't go to bed yet," Harry says suddenly, hand coming up to grip the doorframe. He turns on socked feet. "Just- give me one minute. I'll be back. Don't go to bed yet."

He scrambles off into the guest room he'd claimed earlier in the weekend, the one he has not slept in, and eventually comes skidding back into view with something tucked under his arm. 

"What's-" says Louis, but Harry's already shoving a worn leather notebook at him, movements a little jerky and odd. Louis has to untangle his arms from the duvet to stop the thing from falling. 

"I- You're wrong if you think the band was the best you're ever going to be," says Harry boldly, but his face is already going pale like his nerve is running out. His brain is catching up with his terrible body. "And you're wrong if you think you're the- that everyone else has moved on." 

"Okay," says Louis, stunned. 

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Harry adds defensively. "You talk loud." 

"Okay." 

"And you're- You're wrong that being mean is all you've got left. And- And have a good sleep. I'll see you tomorrow," says Harry, clearly starting to panic. He makes a move forward, reconsiders, and instead skids away. 

There's a thunder of feet descending the stairs, and Louis finally looks down at the familiar brown leather notebook Harry has presented him with. 

It's not the same one he carried with him years ago, of course, but it's the same kind of journal because Harry is a ridiculous and pretentious creature of habit. Louis saw Harry writing in it yesterday, fumbling around on the guitar with Niall as Louis pretended to be asleep and watched through his lashes. The leather is worn at the seam and there's some water damage that crinkles the pages and it's scrawled all over in Harry's angular, all-caps print. 

_one day I'll write a song that isn't meant for you_

Louis sits down heavily on the bed and does not blink. 

...

"So you can stay at the house 'til Soph and the little lad are good to go home," Niall tells Liam as they sprawl on the couch, "but the boys and I agreed it'd be best they get back to their lives tomorrow." 

"Wasn't an agreement," Zayn mumbles, tucking his feet under Liam's legs. His toes are as bony as ever and cold, even through his socks. 

"S'my house," Niall says, shrugging blandly. There's something limp and loose about him. Liam gets the sense he's not going to fight anymore, but he's also not going to change his mind. He wraps a hand around Zayn's ankle and nods. 

"Okay," he says quietly, "thanks, Nialler." 

"And Louis' already said he'll take this 'un," Niall adds, nodding at where Annie's resting her curly head in his lap. "So that's that sorted, then." 

"Sorted," Zayn echoes. He doesn't say anything else, but Liam can sense his unhappiness. He understands it, the wrenching and unfulfilled twist to his gut. He thought it'd end- different, somehow.  They came here to mend things and Liam doesn't think they've succeeded, just tried to jam themselves into roles that don't fit anymore and picked at all the things that had just started to scab over. But then, they've never been too good at ending things. 

"Hi," says Harry, joining them on the couch. He's a little flushed in the face and his hands pick nervously at the cuffs of his jumper, but his smile is open and hopeful. "Are we having a cuddle?" 

"C'mere," Niall obliges, moving to accommodate Harry's lanky body. Harry's shoulder knocks against Liam's companionably and he turns to grin at him, winking. 

"Hello, Daddy." 

Liam and Zayn groan. Niall cackles. Harry snuggles in further, looking pleased with himself. Liam rolls his eyes, but leans over to kiss Harry's shoulder fondly. 

"I guess I can't complain after how you saved the day today, can I?" 

"No," Harry agrees solemnly, "y'really can't." 

"Daddy Direction," says Niall reflectively. "Fuck, Liam. You're a dad." 

"I know," says Liam, who has possibly never felt so happy and sad and terrified and elated at the same time. He feels so filled up he thinks he might start leaking at any moment. He admits, "I'm bricking it to be honest, boys."  

"You're gonna crush it," Zayn says with such simple, sudden confidence that it takes Liam aback. He must take Liam's surprised silence for skepticism, because he persists. "You're the most solid, _good_ person I've ever met. And you try harder and care more than anyone. And you never give up on people." 

"What he said," Niall affirms, nodding. "Your kid's going to have the best dad in t'world." 

Liam feels warm to the core. He thinks he'd be crying if his eyes weren't too crinkled from smiling to let any tears through. 

"And you've really perfected your Disappointed Dad face by now, thanks to Louis," Harry adds, grinning. 

Liam laughs, a couple tears spilling over. Harry swipes them away helpfully, then resumes cuddling Niall. 

"Speaking of, is he alright? Has he really gone to bed?" 

"He'll be alright, I think," Harry answers, posture tensing slightly although he keeps his eyes shut and his voice light. "S'doing some reading."

No one presses further. It's a bruise they try not to prod at, a lingering sadness that gets caught in your hair like cobwebs when you step through it. 

"Niall," says Zayn, "are you sure you don't want us to stay another few-" 

Niall shakes his head, smiling a little to soften the gesture. "It's no good, boys," he says resignedly. "I've got to face my mum and I've got to face what I've done, I guess. What I tried to do, I mean."

"I just feel like we came here and only made things worse," Harry voices, eyes screwed shut. "I feel a bit like we've let you down." 

Niall shakes his head some more. "You lads are the- you're the best boys in t'world and the best friends I'll ever have." 

"But," says Zayn. 

"But I brought you here to fix me and that wasn't on." 

"You don't need fixing," Liam objects. 

"I do," Niall says peaceably. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." 

"How are you comforting us right now?" Harry wonders, and it surprises them all into a laugh. 

"Some things never change," says Zayn. Liam isn't sure if he intends it to be soothing or sorrowful. It falls a little bit in between, maybe. 

"I like to be the comforter," Niall insists. "I like to smooth things over. I've been losing me mind having you lot clucking over me. I like to make people happy."

"You do make us happy," Harry says ferociously. "You _do_." 

"Doesn't mean you've got to be happy all the time," Liam adds, reaching out to nudge Niall with a gentle elbow. "We want you just as you are. Not how you think we should want you." 

Niall exhales and doesn't say anything, but his hand scrabbles at Liam's knee, squeezing tight for a second.  

"We're going to do better, too," Zayn says with an uncharacteristic persistence to his tone. Liam understands that he is trying, really trying, and he regrets the way he dismissed him earlier today. Zayn has not tried to leave once. "We're not going to- we're going to do better. All of us." 

"All of us," Harry agrees, and he glances sideways at Liam like he's remembering last night and everything they unearthed. "We're brothers. We keep each other screwed together, right?" 

"Right," Liam confirms, reaching over to squeeze Harry's shoulder. 

This is too much for Niall, it seems. He buries his face in Harry's hair and stays there for a while, shoulders moving in these shuddery little breaths that Liam's terrified are sobs. 

"Niall?" Zayn ventures. 

"M'fine," Niall mumbles. When he finally sits up, his eyes are wet but bright. "I just love you boys." 

"Love you," Liam echoes. Niall blinks a few tears away and then he sits up straighter and starts to smile. 

"I've got an idea," he says. 

There's something of the old Niall in the way he leans forward, elbows on his knees, grin growing on his face. They all lean forward immediately, instinctively, to meet him. Of course they do. This is a pull, Liam is learning, that never goes away. 

...

Louis comes down a while later. If he's surprised to find Harry shaving a careful patch on Niall's ankle with a pink razor while Zayn fiddles with a sketchy looking poke-and-stick tattoo gun, he doesn't show it. 

"What're we doing lads?" he asks gamely, moving to the fridge to grab a beer.

Harry doesn't really have the emotional strength to look at him right now, having exhausted it all in a moment of unexpected bravery, so he focuses on shaving. He's handed every hidden part of himself over. Every shitty song he could ever write.  

"Giving Niall blood poisoning, probably," says Liam. He's eating baby carrots on the kitchen counter, though, so probably he's not too worried. Harry thinks Liam just feels some moral obligation to voice his disapproval, even when there's no real conviction behind it. In some ways, they are all still exactly the same. 

"I told you," Zayn says patiently, "we've done this a million times. Harry, I really only need you to shave the ankle." 

"S'alright," Niall shrugs, turning his leg so Harry can get at the back of his calf. He's got pale, freckly legs and the hair there is bleached blond. Harry is careful not to nick his skin, shaving around the faded surgical scars on his kneecaps. "Feels nice." 

"I'll have to do both legs," Harry says, focusing on running the razor in smooth, even lines down Niall's leg. "For symmetry." 

Louis comes to stand at the counter, watching their progress. He presses a cold beer against Harry's cheek, just for a second. He and Niall both laugh when Harry startles. Then he opens the beer and places it carefully out of range of Harry's elbows or Niall's toes. "Here." 

"Thanks," says Harry, rubbing at the cool, damp patch the bottle left on his face. 

Louis touches him briefly on the small of his back. There's nothing sharp about him, right then. He moves away to inspect Zayn's supplies. 

"I've worked with sketchier," he says, examining the faded lines that mark his own forearms ruefully. "Should be alright, Neil." 

“We’ve done this a million times,” says Zayn again. “S’perfectly safe.”

"I believe you," says Liam dubiously. He crunches another carrot. “Only maybe now isn’t the best time to be making, like, permanent life choices, Niall.”

Niall lifts his hands, considering the white bandages at his wrists, and then shrugs. “I’ve done dumber things, haven’t I?” 

Liam, surprisingly, drops the issue. Louis hands Niall a beer. 

“One beer each,” he announces, "and then we're cut off. We’re proper adults now, boys. Family men can’t get pissed on a weeknight.”

“Christ,” says Liam. 

“Get used to it, Payno,” Louis cackles. He lifts his own beer in salute. “To the next eighteen years!”

“Christ,” says Liam again, but he’s laughing. He clinks his beer against Zayn’s. They all drink. 

“Really, Harry,” says Zayn again, “I only need you to shave the one ankle.”

“Let the man work,” Niall shouts him down. “He’s making me beautiful.”

“He’s almost done,” Louis adds, coming to inspect Harry’s handiwork. His shoulder presses against Harry’s side, intentional. Harry lets himself lean into it, intentional.  

"How bad is it gonna hurt?" Niall asks, quietly, like it's meant just for them. 

"Less than you think," Harry says back, just as quiet. "But it'll ache for a while after." 

“Reckon you can handle it, Nialler,” says Louis

Niall seems to absorb this, nods, and then extends his skinny white leg towards Zayn.  "Ink me up, boys." 

…

Afterwards, Zayn washes his hands in the sink. Liam carefully bandages Niall’s ankle. Harry follows Louis onto the back deck. They share a cigarette and talk a little bit, but not much. There will be time later. But first they all crowd their feet together to take a picture of their tangled ankles, of the five tiny screws holding them together. Not to post anywhere. Just to have. 

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to worry there's an epilogue coming bc ok yes I want to preserve the tone of the story and treat mental health realistically with respect and patience but also I want to write ot5 fluff and hl soooo yeah stay tuned for that
> 
> thank you to anyone who has read or left a review. you've all been tremendously kind to me and this little story. I've been working on this for almost 2 full years now and it means a lot to me and I'm stupidly proud of it. so thank you for all the kindness and encouragement 
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr](https://charactershoesfic.tumblr.com) if you want! I like friends and 1d and broadway
> 
> also if u felt like leaving me a review I would send you an edible arrangements


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